


Unsteady

by HollowMen (CarterReid)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Homophobic Language, Loneliness, M/M, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Attraction, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-10 20:02:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12306693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarterReid/pseuds/HollowMen
Summary: The longer he looked, the more difficult it was to remember why he hated Draco Malfoy.





	1. approach, appear

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter, Hogwarts and every inch of this incredible universe belongs to J. K. Rowling - I'm just here writing down my brain-farts and weird dreams. 
> 
> Be gentle. I'm new here :)
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> R.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, unfortunately, so rights to their proper place, people: J.K. Rowling et al.
> 
> Hope you like. Play nicely pleases and thank yous. 
> 
> R.

It was impossible to deny that Draco Malfoy was beautiful. No one would dare say that the aristocratic elegance of his movements, the slender and proportionate nimbleness to his fingers as he sliced potions ingredients, nor the exquisite lines of his face were anything but angelic: pale skinned, blonde haired and storm-coloured eyes, Malfoy was every inch the nobleman he had long professed to be. But even though Harry had initially found it more than difficult to face his feelings for his former enemy, he had no trouble admitting to himself that the boy seemed sad since his return to Hogwarts.

In a way, Harry was surprised he _had_ returned. Very few Slytherins had - instead choosing to help rebuild their families, reputations or take a break from the continuous and relentless investigations of the new Ministry for Magic as they hunted for Death Eaters that had thus far avoided Azkaban. Maybe that was the reason Draco had strode into the Great Hall that evening, the welcoming feast pausing slightly to watch him sit at the incredibly depleted far table - because his trial had already been done. Lucius was already in Azkaban, although only for the next few years; his mother under house-arrest for the next eighteen months and Draco had been titled as both 'The Boy Who Had No Choice' and 'Death Eater' by the Prophet as various writers each got hold of his story and the verdict of _not-guilty_.

Harry, of course, had already known Draco's story - he had been there for some and had heard the rest in the trial, where he had repeatedly, vehemently, denied the claims that Draco was a willing participant in Voldemort's plans, and that Narcissa should follow her husband to prison for her part. Kingsley had told him afterwards that it had been his testimony that had kept Lucius alive, Narcissa relatively free and Draco cleared of all crimes. Harry had felt good, until he had seen the reaction of the press. Their understanding of a boy forced into an awful position turning quickly into vitriolic hatred for what they thought was a family that had not been sufficiently punished. His thoughts that they had been bad during his fifth year faded into obscurity. Suddenly Draco was Public Enemy Number One. 

It had only been the wise, and pacifying, words of Hermione that had stopped him from acting out against the perceived injustice, bashing against the Prophet as he had done years previously. Ron, however, had simply declared that the Pureblood had deserved everything that had been given to him. Harry had walked away at that point.

But Draco stayed with him.

Wherever the Boy-Who-Lived looked,  _he_ was there; a ghost in the form of a siren, a blonde haired wrath of a boy unintentionally haunting Harry's every waking thought - and some non waking ones too. The teenager no longer baited the Gryffindors, he no longer smirked at them, nor used the frightful words he had once directed at Hermione. He had, much to their surprise, offered her a thank you when she had passed him ingredients in Potions before retreating to his seat and working quietly, alone, and with barely so much as a glance up. It unnerved Harry to see the boy so subdued, but there was something else too. Because it was in those moments: relaxed, sleeves rolled up, without the pretence of anger plastered across his face or the mocking sneer, that he saw _Draco_ and not  _Malfoy_. He looked young, world-weary and desperate to move on from what he was sure was a horrifying experience. After all, Harry hadn't spent months trapped inside Malfoy Manor with Voldemort and his ghastly followers because his father had thought that joining the dark was the right idea. It was bound to take a toll. 

It was perhaps for that reason, and of course the growing pit of writhing warmth that tugged at his stomach, that saw Harry ditching his friends one cold, winter's afternoon in November and making his way through the castle, eyes glued on the Marauder's Map until Draco's name vanished from sight. He knew instantly just where the blonde was going and hesitated only for a split second before hurrying through the corridors and finally standing before the Room of Requirement, thinking desperately to see Malfoy. Thinking desperately to see  _Draco_. 

The door appeared moments later. Beckoning him forward with a temptation that not even he - the supposed Chosen One, the supposed most powerful wizard of his generation, the Man-Who-Lived-Twice - could withstand. He was helpless... as he always was concerning Draco, he thought. He had never realised just how much of his life had been focused, intertwined, tangled with the other's. They were the same: two boys with little choice and a destiny forced upon them by Fate, their families and an evil man with a penchant for torture. 

Would Harry have shook Draco's hand all those years ago had he  _not_ been the Boy-Who-Lived? He would have probably wanted to more. Maybe because he would have understood just what Draco was forced to endure, what he had to live up to - he was Sirius, but without a James to pull him from the inky blackness. 

His hand was twisting the handle and pushing forward as soon as it formed. He didn't even pause.

The room he walked into was nothing at all like Harry expected. Someone like Draco would have surely been at home in the green silks and silver drapery of Slytherin; the finest materials and nothing but the best for the boy who had, until only a couple of years previously, been the target of envy - the person that every young Pureblood wanted to emulate. He was proud, prim and proper and Harry had been sure that his room, or at least the room that Hogwarts would show him, would have been the exactly that. He couldn't have been more wrong. The deep brown cottage flooring had been covered in numerous rugs - some gold, red and yellow, others cream and brown, others just a block of colour but tasselled, the kind that you would stand and drag your toes through. They ran the length of the room, overlapping and bunching in that unstated rustic, messy way. Furthest away were two, oversized armchairs, plush and deep, one a green, yellow, cream and brown tartan, the other a deep red hue. They flanked a coffee table that looked hand carved and were sat before a huge stone fireplace, bigger than that found in the Gryffindor common room, it would look more at home in the Great Hall, Harry thought. Pillows and blankets were piled up on the chairs, and on the nearby sofa, pushed underneath a huge window that looked out onto... _the forest_? Woodland stretched as far as he could see and Harry found himself stumbling forward, past a towering bookshelf that spanned the wall, and towards the glass. He could smell it: leaves and grass after a rainstorm, the faint scent of parchment and old books and... _coffee_? He turned on his heel, dropping his bag on the floor and looking past the chairs. The Room of Requirement seemed to have separated the room into four: the main living room that he stood in, but Harry could see a large, double bed tucked underneath another large, bay window, and beyond that, a glimmer of an en-suite. And, he thought, from the increasing smell of coffee, there was some sort of kitchenette too. Was Draco _living_ in the Room of Requirement? 

It wouldn't be a surprise, Harry mused, given the less than welcome reception he had received and that none of his friends: not Parkinson, Zabini or Nott, had returned for their second attempt at seventh year. His fingers were running over the top of the armchair absentmindedly and his eyes fluttered closed as he stood and enjoyed the warm glow of the fire flickering behind him.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt so relaxed, so free. The Gryffindor common room just wasn't the same any more - not with the notable absences, the curious looks from his friends on _how he survived_ , and the awed gazes of underlings. It was too much: too many eyes and not enough space. But here, in this strange, homely room summoned into life by a boy he was equally obsessed with and confused by, he felt at home, he felt  _free._

It didn't last too long.

A clatter of something hitting the floor had his eyes open. Draco, mouth hung open and slack with a mug shattered at his feet, was stood before him. "Potter," he said, finally finding his voice, although it was little more than a hoarse croak.

Harry felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him and felt a blush rise in his cheeks because he had no, _no_ , reason to be in the haven that the blonde had created. "Sorry," he muttered, waving his wand and reassembling the mug quickly. "I -" he paused, because he knew the words that were next about to leave his lips would be a lie. He didn't want to lie to Draco. "I was looking for somewhere quiet," he confessed, tucking his wand back into his robes.

"Right," the blonde replied, still clearly shaken; too unsure to react, too wary of Harry and the repercussions of fighting to do anything. It was clear that he didn't want to draw his wand first.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Harry pressed, mouth moving without any permission from his brain. He found himself incredibly reluctant to return to the common room, the numerous eyes and, of course, the circus of Ginny's infatuation with him, urging him to find another place to hang his hat. No one seemed to remember him breaking up with the younger girl and he had given up trying to explain himself without confessing the words: _I'm-obsessed-with-Draco-Malfoy_ to anyone. He was pretty sure that, as far as the school, Ginny and his surrogate family were concerned, they were a couple. It was only Harry himself that had a problem with such a development... not that they listened to his problems with the situation. 

"You already have," the Slytherin griped. Harry chuckled softly, almost nervously, but shrugged and powered through the feeling. Eventually the blonde sighed, too weary to fight him. "Do what you want, Potter."

" _Harry_ ," the messy haired boy corrected instantly as he kicked off his shoes and dropped into the plush, red armchair and pulled a nearby blanket over him, settling down as though he owned the place. Manners be damned, he was too happy to be in the space to think much of proper guest etiquette. He glanced back over to the stunned expression on Draco's face. "What?" he asked gently. 

"What are you _doing_ Potter?" Draco snapped, still standing, and looking at the green eyed boy as though he were mad. 

"Harry," he corrected again, "and I was sitting by the fire, if that's okay?"

"No," Draco replied, setting down his reformed mug on the table and stepping forwards. "Why are you _here_? What's the game?"

"No game," Harry murmured, eyes turning back to the fire.

"So you just turned up? What, no taunts Potter? Aren't you here to fight me?" His voice was rising and suddenly he was the sneering, childish Draco that Harry had known all his years at Hogwarts. And suddenly it became inherently clear that his attitude was nothing more than a defence mechanism; a mask he wore to keep people out, and to keep himself safe.

"No," Harry whispered, shaking his head but still not looking at the blonde. "I'm not here to fight you, Draco."

" _Why not_?" the Pureblood hissed.

The Gryffindor did turn then. "Because," he said, meeting the beautiful, stormy eyes he'd slowly spent his last few months drowning in, "aren't you _tired_ of fighting?"

The boy stopped as though shocked and his fire drained out of him like a balloon leaking air. Confused, defeated and unsure, the boy was suddenly soft, vulnerable and, _Merlin_ , how had Harry not seen it before then? How could he have missed the beauty of him? All those times he had grappled with the boy, punched him, wished he would fall off his broom, and now he wanted nothing more than to run his hands through his hair and hold him close. Why? - he didn't know. He didn't know how deep the urges went, or why he had them. He had considered everything from love potions to hexes, until finally landing on a conclusion that he had not yet fully accepted: it was because he had _feelings_ for Draco. More feelings than he ever had for Ginny - he  _had_ broken up with her after all, although she would say differently - and more so than Cho. It was confusing, scary and made him want to run away, but in Draco's presence, in the warm, red, red room, he felt peaceful.

He felt at home.

And then Draco sat down heavily in the armchair next to him, nursing his drink with a world-weary resignation on his features. Harry's eyes flickered over to him and the blonde snorted before starting, as though surprised at himself for doing so.

"If you think you're getting coffee too, Potter, you're fucking insane," he muttered finally, gaze not leaving the fire.

And for the first time in a long time, Harry threw back his head and laughed genuinely, and laughed  _hard_.            


	2. alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, so all rights go to the proper people: J. K. Rowling et al.
> 
> I have this headcanon that Harry feels he has to prove himself a worthy friend by being so fiercely loyal, and that he only really makes new friends when he pulls away from his old ones... Yeah, so I think that's why Harry gets all up in the angst and what-not in this bit. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you for the kudos so far and I hope I don't butcher these characters too much. Enjoy. 
> 
> Love and more love - R.

They didn't talk about it.

It was their  _thing_ in a way. An unspoken agreement that they seemed to  _fall_ into, the way one falls into habits. It was almost too fragile to be discussed, which was probably another reason that neither broached the definition of their tentative meetings. Each day, once their classes had finished, they would separately make their way to the Room of Requirement, before standing in front of the entrance together, the same haven pictured firmly in their minds. Then, they'd slip unnoticed inside. Harry always made sure he kept the Map with him, so neither Hermione nor Ron could work out where he really was, or dispute his claims of being  _'in the library, mate'_ or  _'getting some fresh air, 'Mione' -_  although all of them knew that he wasn't telling the whole truth. But his time with Draco was too special to be interrupted. He coveted it, like a child, still too greedy and selfish to understand words like 'share' and 'moderation'. 

In short, Harry was becoming addicted to not being alone. 

They would drop their bags at the door, leave their wands on the table and slip off their shoes before walking side by side to the kitchenette, thoughts of coffee, hot chocolate or tea weighing on their minds. They moved so seamlessly around one another now, Harry realised. Manoeuvring through their hidden world with a fluidity of old friends, not near recent enemies. The occasional soft, ghost-like touch: a brush of hands, of arms, of turning into one another just slightly, had begun to occur though. Almost as though their subconscious minds were attempting to remind themselves they weren't alone... or that their desire for human contact had grown so much they were too touch-starved to stop themselves. 

But a thrill buzzed through Harry whenever it happened. 

A stirring in the pit of his stomach, like a slow, honeyed sort of warmth, the kind that reminded him of gold rays and a syrup type headiness that spread slowly, but purposefully, outwards. He quickly found himself drunk on the sensation. A single brush of the hands could make him feel warmer than drinking the strongest mead the Hog's Head had to offer. It was becoming more and more difficult to deny the truth. The truth that the longer he looked, the more difficult it was to remember why he hated Draco Malfoy. The truth that the longer he looked, the more difficult it was to remember why he hadn't loved him before. And there, he thought, he had finally  _thought_ it. 

_Love._

Big, bold and brutal - the feelings could be the end of him, Harry knew; but, he thought, stealing glances every-so-often at his companion, they could be the start of him too. There, together, in that room, existed a peace that Harry had longed for since he first entered the Wizarding World. He wouldn't trade his friends for anything, of course, but there was something so calm about being in Draco's presence. A stillness in the insanity of his life. It was like stepping out of a storm for a moment, and watching with morbid fascination as it raged on from a place of tranquillity and silence. 

They never spoke about anything important, though. That was, of course, if they ever spoke at all. Sometimes, they would pull their blankets over them and stare into the fire, the only noise being the crackling wood burning in the flames and the occasional slurp of whatever they had chosen to drink that day. If they did talk, they did so with low, murmuring voices, more appropriate for young lovers swapping declarations of affection or sordid secrets, than two boys hiding from the world and discussing their Charms homework. Rarely, they would stray into speaking of the news; with so many of Draco's friends still splashed across the pages of the Prophet and the Ministry's hunt for Death Eaters still ongoing, it was a minefield that neither boy particularly wanted to enter.

It was four days before the Christmas holidays were due to start that Harry began to understand the realities of that minefield. 

Hogwarts had slowly lost the greenery and rolling landscapes that the Gryffindor had fallen in love with so long ago and instead covered itself in a thick blanket of white, white snow. The air was crisp and clean, although breathing in too harshly made Harry cough and his nose burn as harshly as his scar once had. Nevertheless, there was a undercurrent of excitement around the castle. After the previous year where Christmas had been little more than a landmark against which to mark survival against, the old Hogwarts was a happy reminder of the good times they'd had. The floating baubles, old ornaments and tinsel all brought smiles to their faces and the abundance of mistletoe that kept appearing overhead made them laugh; although Peeves had been found moving a lot of it from classroom to classroom in the hope of catching students unawares and forcing them into awkward situations. McGonagall had spent a far amount of time chasing him off, but had eventually given up and issued a school-wide warning to be aware of his antics. But other than Peeves, the place was working with a harmony they all sorely needed. It was helped, of course, by the high spirits resulting from the shining Christmas lights; cold, winter weather; and the high count of knitted jumpers for them all to laugh at. It had been the highlight of the year so far. However it seemed it wasn't that way for all students. 

Draco had been subdued, more so than usual; his eyes lowered and shoulders slumped as he made his way through Transfiguration and Potions. There was little effort, barely any concentration and, for the first time, Professor Slughorn had been forced to correct him on something. Harry's heart had jumped into his throat then, beating so fast there it felt as though his vocal chords were vibrating, thrumming too fast to produce a sound other than something more animal than civilised. Something was very, very wrong and the boy that he dared call a friend was clearly struggling. 

He practically pounced on the Slytherin when they entered the room. 

"Draco?" Harry asked, dropping his bag and immediately turning into him, standing probably a-little-too-close, but too worried to temper himself. 

"Don't, Potter," he replied, shaking his head and dragging a world-weary hand through his hair. That too was uncharacteristically messy. "Leave it."

"Draco," the green-eyed boy insisted, ushering him to his chair and forcing him to sit before squatting on his haunches to keep eye level. The very fact he had allowed himself to be steered told Harry that the situation was much worse than he was expecting. "What  _happened_?"

"Pott-"

"Harry," the Gryffindor corrected instantly. The blonde scowled, mouth opening to say something probably hurtful or snide, but Harry beat him to it. "I won't stop pestering until you tell me," he confessed.

The Pureblood deflated then, knowing the younger boy well enough to know it was the truth. "My mother doesn't want me home for Christmas," Draco breathed out in one long breath, leaning back into the seat and letting his eyes flutter closed. "Pansy is moving to France with her family in an attempt to start a new life; Blaise is doing the same, but he's moving to the States. His father has been offered a position in one of the M.A.C.U.S.A departments. Theo is involved in something dark, I'm sure, given that he has stopped replying to my owls. And I have been warned that a rather unpleasant piece about my father, and my family, will be appearing in the Prophet tomorrow morning." His stormy eyes opened then, hurt filled and somewhat bitter. "Happy now?" he snapped.

Harry was stunned. Stunned into silence, but also stunned that the boy had been carrying so much all day and hadn't snapped at anyone. He would have. He'd have snarled and scowled and raged against his friends. But as quickly as his shock appeared, it disappeared, because despite the situation being so incredibly bleak, Harry knew exactly what he needed to do. 

"So you're staying at Hogwarts?" he asked quietly, sitting back onto the floor and letting his legs stretch out before him. 

"It would seem so," Draco replied bitterly. "Alone, too, if the excited gossiping is anything to go by."

"You won't be alone," Harry said. "I'm going to stay." 

The blonde's eyebrows shot up his face, disappearing into his hair line in an instant. " _You're_ staying over the holidays?" 

 _He was now_. 

"Yes," Harry nodded. He'd have to speak with Ron, and Mrs Weasley, who were expecting him to travel back at the end of the week. Not to mention McGonagall. He'd need a good excuse, one other than: I'm staying because Draco is. Perhaps he could say he needed time alone? Ironic, of course, but in a way, a half-truth. He did need time alone, time away from his friends to sort out the mess of emotions he had for Draco and to re-evaluate the tentative thing between them. However, between those periods of isolation, he would be decidedly _not_ alone.

"Huh," Draco said, sceptical and eyes slightly narrowed, as though Harry were a rather interesting potions ingredient for him to study. Yet there was something beneath the curiosity and cautious disbelief: hope. There was something bright and  _beautiful_  that had stolen into the grey-storm coloured eyes and a ghost of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. And that reaction made it all worth-while. 

"You won't be alone, Draco," Harry promised, grinning brilliantly, partly in an attempt to cover the planning unfolding in his mind, although mainly to hide the butterflies that had suddenly manifested in his stomach. "And I'm sure that just because Pansy and Blaise are moving, doesn't mean they won't keep in touch. I mean, Portkeys were created for a reason, right?" He paused, licking his lips almost nervously as he continued. "And Theo, he'll resurface. He's probably just too focused on family to reply quickly enough - you are a worrier." He paused again. "And even if you are feeling lonely without them, you've got me," he smiled gently, shrugging as though the declaration was no big deal and their unsteady friendship was built on moorings of bedrock, not sand. 

"Huh," the blonde said again. They were relatively quiet for the rest of their time there but they parted ways with soft, reassuring smiles and lingering gazes, making Harry feel like air as he walked back to the Gryffindor common room. 

He was ambushed as soon as he opened the door. 

" _There you are_ ," a voice declared, hand wrapping around his waist like a strangler plant. His mood soured. 

"Ginny," he said, voice flat as he carefully removed himself from her grip. She clearly saw none of his discomfort however, only smiled sweetly, the freckles on her face seemingly larger at the motion, before dragging him to the couches in front of the fire. Ron looked up from his game of chess with Seamus, which he seemed to be winning comfortably, and rolled his eyes slightly at his sister's antics, until his gaze shifted to Harry. 

"Mate," he greeted, "we were looking for you."

"Sorry," he said tightly, trying to shift away from Ginny, "I was -"

"Out?" Hermione guessed, eyebrows raised and disbelief on her face. 

"Yeah," he finished lamely, offering a shrug. "I need to talk to you guys, actually," he continued.

"Alright mate," Ron grinned, "just let me finish this game." Harry conceded with a nod but fidgeted uncomfortably at the weighted glare Hermione was levelling at him. She always seemed to know just what he was planning to do - even before he did himself. The boy turned away, watching instead as his friend demolished Seamus in less than ten moves and gave a triumphant whoop that drowned out the groan from his opponent.

"You should have learned by now," Dean offered as his friend wandered over and flung himself down on the nearby armchair. "Ron's never been beaten."

"I know," Seamus groaned from behind his arms. There was a relaxed murmur of amusement that rippled through the room at that. 

"So, Harry," Hermione said, taking the moment to sit down stiffly beside him. "What is it you wanted to talk to us about?" Ron had leaned forward slightly, as had Ginny who was sat precariously on the arm of the sofa. 

"I- uh," he paused, huffing in a breath slightly and mustering his courage. He was a Gryffindor after all. "I've decided that I'm going to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas," he began. "I mean -"

He was cut off by an awful, air piercing half-shriek that made even the paintings clap their hands over their ears. 

"I'm sorry,  _what_?" Ginny said, lurching forward as though she had been tugged off the chair by an invisible force. "You're staying? Here? In Hogwarts...  _alone_?"

 _I won't be alone,_ he thought, but he bit back the reply. "Gin," he started, but he was cut off again. 

"Seriously Harry," Ron interjected instead, appearing both offended and seemingly puzzled, "Mum's really looking forward to having us all home. Especially as it'll be the first Christmas since..." he trailed off. "Well,  _you_ know."

 _Since Fred_ , Harry realised and the guilt doubled then. He pushed it down. He wasn't just Ron's or Hermione's friend anymore: he was  _Draco's_ too. And he cared about Draco. And while he cared about Ron, his best mate had friends, family and many people around him all rooting for him, all helping, all  _there_. The blonde Slytherin didn't have anyone. 

"I need to stay here, Ron," the boy replied firmly, tone giving no room for argument. Ginny noticed his finality as well as she noticed his finality concerning their break-up.

"But Harry," she all but hissed, "I thought you wanted to spend Christmas at the Burrow." Her words were laced with innuendo that even a fool couldn't miss and Ron scrunched up a face in disgust. 

"Dude, that's still my sister," he complained in a side whisper that echoed louder in the suddenly silent room. Everyone had turned to stare at them, eagerly tracking the conversation and Harry could feel every single pair of eyes trained on him.

And he hated it. 

"Look," Harry said, standing abruptly, frustrated and angry at being made to feel guilty, and being implied in something he wanted no part of. "I'm staying at Hogwarts, okay?"

"But -"

"No buts Ron," he snapped, "I don't want to go to the Burrow, I'm sorry. I want to stay here."

"You'll be alone," Hermione said, interjecting for the first time. 

"Maybe that's what I want," Harry shot back quickly, grabbing his bag and heading up towards the dorms. 

"Harry," Hermione called after him. The boy paused slightly. "We're worried about you, Harry," she confessed. 

There was a long, unsettled silence. 

"Don't be," the Chosen One finally replied, storming up the stairs and slamming the door closed. 

And that was the first night he dreamt of Draco. 


	3. don't feel like home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, so rights to all their proper places: J. K. Rowling et al.
> 
> Enjoy, you lovely people - R.

It was strange, walking through the hallways of a place usually so filled with students, that was suddenly deserted. Other than the ghosts, he and Draco were the only ones not returning home for their Christmas holidays. Even those who had lost  _everything_ , had packed their bags and left, either with their friends, or to visit their last remaining relatives. So he, the Slytherin and a handful of Professors had the castle to themselves. 

And suddenly anything was possible. 

The morning after Hogwarts had emptied itself of her students: them streaming down to the train or, in some instances, lining up before the fireplace in McGonagall's office, Harry awoke early. It was the kind of awakening that rolled over him like a soothing wave of warmth, half-light and contentedness. The boy felt light, filled up on the freedom of the holidays ahead, and even as his eyes looked over to the empty bed usually occupied by Ron, there was no twinge of sorrow at the absence of his best friend. This Christmas gave him an opportunity to do something he had long been waiting to do: so he did just that. Slipping from between the sheets, tugging on a jumper and taking the stairs two at a time, Harry meandered through the empty hallways, a smile threatening to _break_ his face, and something pleasant settling around his heart. He stopped before the door of the Slytherin common room, rapping loudly until a bleary eyed Draco appeared.

"Breakfast?" he had asked, his lips contorting to accommodate an even bigger smile. The irritation on Draco's face vanished instantly and he nodded, just the once, but with enough force to make Harry snort unpleasantly. And then, for the first time, they walked side by side to the Great Hall. They sat side by side as they ate. They left together. They started the first essay of their holiday assignments, chuckling at Harry's expense until they were both red-faced and crying. They ate lunch together. They sat together by the fire, swapping stories and confessions as though they had been fast friends for years. They ate dinner together. They spent the evening playing chess - Harry lost - and Exploding Snap - Harry still lost - in the Gryffindor common room. They dragged blankets down from the dorms and camped before the fire like twelve year old children on their first sleepover. They slept side by side. They woke together. And it was, as far as Harry could remember, the best day he had had in  _years_. 

It must have looked strange - more than that, the teachers found themselves openly staring. But only McGonagall had said anything, gently pulling Harry to one side and offering only the words: "You're a good man, Potter," in acknowledgement that made him blush to the tips of his ears, before retreating down the corridor. There had been something pleasant that had filled him then because regardless of their appearance - the overall irregularity of the sight - his professors had simply accepted what they were seeing. The budding friendship, the budding  _more-than-that_ , was different but not unwelcome. 

It was Christmas Eve when Draco, wrapped up tightly in his thickest coat, woollen hat with matching scarf and gloves, and his cheeks slightly pink, waltzed down from the Gryffindor dorms, a bounce in his step. The boy had unceremoniously moved into the place after that first day spent together and they had transfigured two of the small, cramped beds into a double bed that they had, without a single word, slipped into together. They never touched, other than waking the other from the occasional nightmare. It made the night terrors much easier to handle when someone who  _knew_ and who didn't look at them with pity was only inches away.

"Get dressed Potter," he laughed, nudging the boy with his foot. Harry glanced up from his book and regarded his friend, humoured. 

"Draco?" he asked. 

"Come on," the blonde continued, jerking his head towards the door. The messy-haired Gryffindor grinned, shaking his head, before bounding up the stairs and disappearing into the dorms. He reappeared, sporting Mrs Weasley's latest knitted jumper - much to his new friend's amusement.

"And where are we going?" Harry asked as they strode through the port-hole together.

"Hogsmeade, of course," Draco returned. "We may be stuck at Hogwarts, but we aren't stuck in the castle." The green eyed boy didn't reply, only rolled his eyes as they crossed the courtyard and shuffled through the layers of crisp, untouched snow. The sky was white and Harry could see occasional blots of brown, or black, that told him the owls were enjoying the weather too. 

Hogsmeade looked like the front of a chocolate box - an old, typical English village that seemed too good to be true. It was like meandering through the front of a Christmas card, surreal but beautiful. The small, cosy thatched cottages and the various shops with their signs hanging from the store-fronts, were all coated in a thick layer of crisp snow. Wreaths of holly and the occasional decorated tree that sat outside the doors, and long, winding strings of enchanted candles hovered in the windows or between the buildings. Despite the lack of students and the fact it was Christmas Eve, it was far from deserted. But two boys, their faces obscured with scarves, their hair covered by hats, drew no attention. The locals could not see just who walked side by side, nor did they particularly care at that point either. Harry and Draco were safe from attention, scrutiny and judgement for the first time, it seemed, in their lives. And both had never been so happy about it before. 

They took their time, lingering as they moved from one store to another, enjoying spending the moments with each other. Visiting Zonko's had been interesting. Watching Draco laugh at the Nose-Biting Teacups and the Dungbombs before finally deciding on Frog Spawn Soap had made Harry grin. "Blaise - it's an in-joke," was the only explanation he offered before chuckling to himself, eyes brighter than Harry had ever seen before and pocketed the product. 

They went to Honeydukes next where both boys loaded their bags with Sugar Quills, Chocolate Frogs, Jelly Slugs, Fizzing Whizzbees and Licorice Wands. Harry discovered that Draco  _loved_ Treacle Fudge, and judging by his excitement at seeing the sweet, had not eaten some in a while. Harry grabbed another three packs of the stuff when Draco wasn't looking and tucked it into his coat for the next day. They had both decided that after their Christmas meal in the Great Hall, they would spend their time in the common room, eating sweets and doing absolutely nothing: enjoying each other's company and ignoring the expectation that they had on their shoulders. The Boy-Who-Lived also bought some Cauldron Cakes and a couple of Pumpkin Pasties, the latter of which the Slytherin turned up his nose at. Harry made a point of eating one, loudly, as they left the shop. The blonde shoved him playfully, pink tinging his cheeks. They were only separate for a few moments: when Draco slipped into Tomes and Scrolls for a few minutes and Harry looked around Spintwitches Sporting Needs for a care kit for his broomstick. He was admiring the latest Firebolt model when his friend rapped loudly on the window and impatiently jerked his head. Somehow, Harry couldn't muster any frustration at the action and only managed to roll his eyes and hide the brilliance of his grin when he joined him once more in the snowy outdoors. 

A last minute decision saw them moving into the Hog's Head rather than the Three Broomsticks. Harry knew Aberforth would be less likely to comment on his company than the locals of the other, friendlier pub. Two glasses of Butterbeer and a snide comment from Draco about the age of the drink saw them dissolving into giggles and sharing some of their chocolate stash. One of the frogs managed to slip from the table, hop along the floor and jump into the drink of another patron. The students had been shaking with laughter as they quickly packed up their things and hurried from the pub, heads bowed and faces covered as the customer swore at the unwelcome addition to his Firewhiskey. 

They were still laughing as they made their way back up the track towards the school, features flaming a bright, brilliant red with embarrassment and humour. 

"Honestly Harry," Draco spluttered, still chuckling and shaking his head, as though the whole development were because _he_ was there. 

"It wasn't  _my_ fault," he retorted, half indignant, half squawking. 

"Oh no," Draco grinned, tossing him a wink, " _Saint Potter_."

"Watch it," Harry snorted.

They sobered eventually, the cold pressing in on them suddenly and Harry became aware that he hadn't really asked about how Draco was feeling. It would be, as far as he knew, the first Christmas without his parents - and the first away from the Manor where he grew up. "Hey," he began gently, "are you upset about being here?" the Gryffindor muttered, looking up from beneath his eyelashes in what he hoped was more curious and cautious than flirting. 

Draco hesitated, casting his eyes over the castle that was quickly growing larger as it loomed before them. "No," he confessed after a moment of silence. "Initially I was worried, yes," he continued, "but the Manor, it's not -" he struggled. "It's just not, it's not -"

"The same?" the boy offered, shifting slightly closer so their arms brushed together as they walked.

"Not since  _he_ was there," Draco spat, lacing his voice with the anger Harry knew bubbled inside him at the thought of Voldemort in his home. "The Manor - I don't feel -" he trailed off, anger gone and looking like a frightened and lost child. 

"At home," Harry finished. 

"No," he murmured. "There was so much darkness there  _before_ , but now it doesn't feel ugly, it feels chilling. As though the whole place is corrupted now. Everywhere I look, I just see  _him_." He paused, meeting Harry's inquisitive gaze. "I'm so glad you killed him."

Harry didn't know what to say. But in that moment, he didn't think there was anything he  _could_ say. For weeks they had been tentative and hesitant, building a friendship that he craved and wanted more of. Draco was as damaged and as broken as he was, but he was also worth saving, from himself and from the darkness that had shrouded his family. And he _wanted_ to save the blonde. He wanted to be there for the good days, and the bad, and to remind him at every point that what happened was not his fault. That yes, he took the mark, but he wasn't a murderer, he had actually saved Harry's life, and, most importantly, he was just a boy who had been given his father's cause and forced to cooperate to save himself, his mother and the people he loved most in the world. In a way, he was Harry, just on the other side of the war.

He was beautiful, brilliant and broken: and Harry _liked_ him. So he did what Gryffindors were synonymous for: he mustered up every ounce of his courage and was  _brave._

Harry kissed him. 

His lips were chapped and cracked with cold, his breath icy as he exhaled into their shared space. There was a moment where the messy-haired boy panicked, knowing he shouldn't have crossed the line, but Draco's mouth moved against his as he began to pull away. It was tentative, more curious than passionate: a silent admittance to the thing that had been building between them. There were no fireworks, nor rough, mindless grinding, nor anything more than cold lips moving over one another in a strange, slow dance that was as chaste as young virgins, as pure as snow and cautious as a mother was over her new-born child. Harry risked stepping slightly closer and almost blushed when his nose knocked against Draco's. There was a quiet, half huff, before the blonde Slytherin shifted his weight and adjusted them both, letting his right hand cup Harry's cheek while his left gripped his hip. The kiss continued, unobstructed by Harry's awkward clumsiness. It was only when the Gryffindor dropped his hands to wrap themselves around Draco's waist, hovering slightly awkwardly, that the Pureblood pulled back, although not too far, instantly quelling Harry's rising insecurities. 

"We can't tell anyone," the boy muttered eventually, his forehead resting against Harry's. His eyes were half closed but the Boy-Who-Lived didn't need to see them to know they were serious. 

"Okay," Harry agreed, slightly breathless, although more from his raging emotions than from the kiss itself because _Draco-had-kissed-him-back_. And, Merlin, did this mean... could Draco?  

"They'll think I cursed you," Draco continued. "Or slipped you a potion..." 

"I'd tell them you didn't."

"That's exactly what someone under the influence of a potion would say," Draco huffed, eyes opening and regarding Harry with naked affection and the Gryffindor's heart soared at the sight. He wasn't sure what they were or he extent of his feelings, but Harry knew he  _wanted_ this. He wanted them. Together. He wanted to be with Draco. And he knew that intention was written on his face because he was smiling as though he couldn't stop himself. 

Draco hesitated slightly before leaning forward again and slotting their mouths back together. They were considerably better at navigating the kiss the second time around. 

It was Harry that pulled away first the second time. "We're...um," he paused, blushing a deep and almost violent red, "I mean, you're...I -"

" _Potter_ ," Draco snorted, burying his head in the black haired boy's neck as he tangled his hands around the boy's waist. "Spit it out."

"You're not kissing anyone else, are you?" he blurted. Draco went tense instantly. "I mean, we're not kissing anyone else...Other than each other, I mean," he continued, "I mean -"

"Exclusive," the Slytherin whispered, kissing the underside of his jaw lightly and softening. "We're exclusive."

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "I want that,  _you_ , I mean -" he blushed red again, "Merlin's beard."

Draco only laughed, seemingly content with snuggling as close to Harry as he could, fusing the pair of them together.

"I really like you Draco," Harry whispered to the cold air. 

The blonde glanced up, lips curled into a smile. "I really like you too,  _Harry_ ," he whispered, his mouth seeking the messy-haired boy's. 

And the third time really was the charm.


	4. come here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, so all rights go to their proper places: J. K. Rowling et al. 
> 
> Yeah-ess - they are finally, finally kissing-in-the-tree
> 
> Also, another headcanon thing: I have this idea that Draco longs for connections and Harry longs for a family, and that they work so well together because they can give each other what they want most, ya know? 
> 
> Anyways, lovely people, enjoy.  
> R.

Harry found that kissing Draco was his new, favourite hobby.

Christmas Day was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He woke slowly, lazily, the blonde haired boy still snoozing beside him and looking ethereal in the soft, winter's light. He was huffing out little breaths that made him seem much younger than he was and his features were relaxed and open. Something warm spread through Harry, like a hot mug of tea or being wrapped in a comfortable blanket. His fingers were tracing the lines of Draco's face before he could stop himself, memorising, with as many senses as he could, the beauty of the boy before him. The Slytherin's eyes fluttered for a moment before his nose twitched and he finally settled his gaze on Harry. There was a shy smile curling his lips almost instantly and a blush rising in his cheeks. 

"Morning," he murmured, his shyness making Harry  _swoon_. The boy just leaned forward, silently praying his breath didn't smell, and slotted their mouths together, his hand fluttering over Draco's cheek. The stormy eyes closed and the older boy smiled into the kiss, little half-huffs of laughter breaking it up into smaller, butterfly kisses that made his knees weak. He would have crumpled to the floor had he not been lying down. 

"Hello there Potter," Draco breathed against his lips, pulling away just slightly, but shoving his cold feet in between the warm calves of the Gryffindor. The messy-haired boy hissed, trying desperately to be offended, but too drunk on the sensation of  _being_ with Draco to really muster up any believable annoyance. 

"Hi," he murmured, snagging Draco's bottom lip with his teeth and shifting closer, kissing and kissing and  _kissing_. They eventually separated, but it was reluctantly, and both kept as close to the other as they could.  

"We should probably talk about this, you know," Draco whispered, bringing his hand up to tenderly brush his cheek. The soft _thump-thump_ of their hearts was the only noise in the quiet of the dorm room.

"Uh-huh," Harry agreed, gaze roaming shamelessly over his features. Draco rolled his eyes at the boy's lack of concentration, lips twitching into that gentle, affectionate smile, the antithesis of the malice-laced smirk that would commandeer his face all those years ago.

" _Potter_ ," Draco tried again, shifting himself lightly closer. "You reckless, reckless Gryffindor," he muttered, "are you listening?"

"Uh-huh," Harry nodded, snagging another kiss before the blonde could protest. "'m listening," he continued, his breath slightly uneven. It took him a moment to realise that Draco was expecting  _him_ to speak. "We  _should_ talk," he agreed. "About the kissing. And about the  _only-kissing-each-other_ rule too," he murmured. "Because I like kissing you, a  _lot_."

Draco went a brilliant shade of red. Flustered, but still smiling. 

"You're not so bad yourself, Potter," the blonde shot back, quirking his lips, emotion shining in his eyes. 

"Uh-huh," Harry whispered. "I was afraid to kiss you," he confessed. "I was scared you wouldn't kiss me back. That I'd lose you."

Draco's brow furrowed and he pressed a ghost of a kiss to Harry's lips. "You were braver than me," he murmured, swallowing thickly and trying to force down the ruddy flush rising up his neck and to taint his cheeks. "I don't know why you chose to sit with me that day, or why you came back. Part of me thought it was pity - you felt sorry for me being all alone - and I was too greedy for more of you to feel ashamed by that."

"Wasn't pity," Harry breathed against his skin, gaze tracking the bob of Draco's throat as he swallowed again. 

"You were always a fantasy for me," he continued, almost as though he hadn't heard the words. "I wanted to be your friend and then, when I knew what the feelings inside me _were_ , I wanted -" he cut himself off, taking a deep breath in. "But I was convinced you would grow bored of our evenings, realise that I was nothing more than the mark on my arm. I thought you'd leave. I never thought you could... you could..." He trailed off, ducking his gaze and slotting his face into the messy-haired boy's neck to hide the now flaming colour of his flushed cheeks. Draco's hands were tight fists in the fabric of Harry's nightshirt, skin almost white across the bone. 

"That I could...?" Harry prompted in a quiet, hesitant sort of tone, hope swelling in his chest. 

"Feel the same," he eventually admitted, looking up from underneath his eyelashes. Harry's face lit up,  _glowing_ with a hundred emotions that even he couldn't quite discern from each other. His heart soared in his chest, throwing itself against his ribs and he lurched forward, pulling Draco in for a sweet, excited kiss that quickly turned into them both giggling like school-girls.

They eventually pulled apart and clambered out from underneath the covers, but their hands tangled together, tugging each other close, neither wanting to be separated for any time longer than absolutely necessary. "Feel the same, indeed, Malfoy," he chuckled, glancing down at their hands.

A handful of owls were waiting for the pair of them when they finally made their way down the stairs and into the common room. Gifts and letters were littered on the tables, some big, some small. They each knew, however, just who each of the parcels were from given the remarkably untidy wrapping in stark contrast to the neat, precise paper of what was clearly Draco's pile. Harry huffed at each of the owls and gave them a treat before watching as they flew out of the nearby window, still open from the previous night.

They opened the cards first: Harry's from the Weasley's, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Hagrid and, much to his surprise, Andromeda and Teddy. There was also a separate card from Ginny, but Harry tossed it to one side, choosing instead to watch Draco open his. There was a beautiful, hand-made card from his mother that brought tears to his eyes. There was something rude from Pansy and Blaise and, much to Draco's surprise, a card from Theo as well. 

Draco's accompany gifts included a new chess set from Blaise; a soft, expensive looking jumper from Pansy in the same colour grey as his eyes; a large pack of Treacle Fudge from Theo; and a new quill, leather-bound journal and satchel from his mother. The boy smiled brightly at all of them before pulling Harry close and kissing him, his eyes still not quite losing the expression of surprise that he was allowed to do so. 

In contrast, Harry had received a cake from Hagrid, as well as a rather impressive drawing of Buckbeak; a scarf from Mrs Weasley in the usual bright orange-red-brown colours; a Chudley Cannon's Quidditch jersey in the violent, bright orange from Ron; Hermione had sent him Dumbledore's copy of 'Tales of Beedle the Bard' which made his heart ache in memory; Luna had sent him a charm to keep away the Nargles; Neville a box of Acid Pops; while Andromeda had sent him pictures of Teddy along with an open invitation to visit, and a thick, woollen hat in Gryffindor red and gold. "Remus wore this often," she wrote in her note, "but I'm sure it belonged to Sirius." There were tears in his eyes at that point and he smiled softly, pulling the hat down over his ears and turning to Draco with a grin.

"It suits you," Draco complimented, tugging at the corner playfully.

"You think?" Harry asked, blushing, as he shifted the wrapping paper off his lap. He turned from side to side, offering Draco all angles to view him from. The Slytherin laughed and nodded, rolling his eyes and opening his arms when Harry clambered into his personal space, face split open by his grin.

"Very dashing, Potter," he repeated, arms loosely circling his waist. "I have something for you," he murmured, lips brushing together.

"For me?" he asked, blushing again. "I have something for you too." Harry reached behind him and presented Draco with the haphazardly wrapped box. The boy looked bashful for a moment before accepting the gift and carefully pealing back the paper. The Treacle Fudge was on top, which made Draco smile, but beneath made him hesitate. The blonde picked up the mirror curiously. "I got the idea from my godfather," he began, "it's one half of a two-way mirror. If you ever need me, just say Harry Potter and, well..." he scratched his head, somewhat embarrassed.

"Thank you," he whispered, reverently. "I love it." He placed the mirror to one side carefully, as though it were the most precious gift he could give. "And I have something for you," he murmured, shifting slightly and waving his wand, a package immediately soaring down the stairs and into his hands. He offered it to Harry with little fanfare.

Draco's present was much more impressively wrapped: clean lines, neat bows and deep, navy blue paper. Harry didn't really want to open it, it was too perfect, but he did.

It was a photo, framed in simple black wood. It took Harry mere seconds to realise just what it was: Sirius, aged fifteen, maybe sixteen, laughing, and by his side, his  _dad,_ glasses hanging off the end of his nose and robes all skewed. He too was laughing, an open, glorious thing that made his heart clench. His eyes flickered up to meet those of the Slytherin. "My mother was a Black," he said, as though that explained everything. "She had some pictures of Sirius stashed away in an old school truck. I found them before term started and intended to give them to you, but, I didn't know how and I thought now might -"

He was cut off as Harry's lips met Draco's.   

"It's not only that," he eventually murmured as they pulled apart, thumbs wiping away the tears that Harry had unknowingly shed. He smiled softly before hesitating, eyes dropping to the floor and blushing heavily as he realised the Gryffindor was sat in his lap. "And he should be here any minute..."

"He?" Harry asked, pulling away slightly, confused. A loud screech and there was a blur of colour flying through the window before it settled on the table. The boy's breath caught in his throat. "You bought me an owl?" he gasped, emotion welling up within him. Draco's hands slid down his sides and settled on his hips as he turned in his lap and gently reached out to run his fingers over the top of the owl's head. He was beautiful, with brown-black feathers and bright, orange eyes. There were tufts on his ears and he nipped affectionately at Harry's fingers. 

"He's an Eagle-Owl," Draco whispered in his ear. 

"What's his name?" Harry breathed, gaze unwavering from the creature before him. 

"He doesn't have one yet." Harry's stomach swooped and he felt like crying. "I didn't want to replace Hedwig, but..." Draco trailed off, unsure, but Harry turned slightly and pressed a kiss to his cheek - although in his haste, it was closer to his nose.

"How about Thuban?" Harry breathed eventually, mind frantically dragging itself back to Astronomy class. The owl hooted in agreement, clearly happy with the name. Draco, however, went tense behind him. 

"That's a star in -"

"In the Draco constellation," Harry finished for him. "I know."

" _Harry_ ," the boy breathed, forehead pressing into the back of Harry's neck.

 _And by Merlin, how he loved that_ \- the way Draco breathed out his name like a prayer. He couldn't think of a time he was happier. He couldn't think of a better Christmas.

"Come here," Harry whispered, pulling Draco's mouth as close as he could and settling comfortably in his lap. "I  _really,_ really like you."

"Me too, Potter," Draco replied, rolling his eyes and attempting to appear remotely indignant but it was failing badly. And they swapped kisses until their lips were bruised and Thuban hooted indignantly, eager for food. 

The days began to blur after that, each as wonderfully blissful as the others. It was all too soon that they were both welcoming in the new year, wrapped tightly around each other, lips joined and whispering promises of staying together in each other's mouths. They spent hours wandering the castle grounds, walking hand in hand with Thuban flying overhead, occasionally descending into impromptu snowball fights that left them red-faced and laughing. They stayed out late and enjoyed the cold, crisp air beneath shiny, shiny stars and woke up in each other's arms.

And it was the day before his friends were due to return, when Harry knew that he could no longer walk through the halls with Draco by his side, that he realised he didn't want to be parted from the blonde. He didn't want to be away from the warmth and the light that being with him had brought. Their three weeks alone had been blissful, easy heaven and Harry didn't want it to end.

Their last night together, when Harry was sure Draco was asleep, he leaned over and whispered softly into his ear the words he hoped he might one day shout out in front of everyone:

"I'm pretty sure that I'm falling in love with you, you idiot."


	5. hold on to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, so rights to all the proper people: J. K. Rowling et al.
> 
> If you are a big Weasley fan, you might want to cover your eyes: a little bit of bashing and Ron being a dick here :)
> 
> R.

Frankly, Harry was amazed his friends hadn't noticed yet. The weeks following Christmas had seen him practically skipping to and from class, disappearing at all hours of the day and not returning at night. His time, monopolised by Draco, had seen him more or less move into the Room of Requirement - where he now slept, relaxed and did his school work, under the watchful eye of his incredibly smart, although incredibly distracting, boyfriend. Who had remarked with all the haughtiness he could that: 

"Just because I'm now dating the Golden Boy does  _not_  mean I'm letting Granger  _beat_  me again this year." It had been one early Saturday morning as he dragged Harry to the library while the rest of Hogwarts still slept, "I  _will_  be the best in the year, Potter." Harry had protested until he realised that they both knew he really didn't mind, so had simply settled in the seat beside the blonde, worked on his Charms essay until he found that peppering kisses along Draco's jawline was a much better use of his time. Especially as the boy began to squirm and halfheartedly bat at his face, snorting when Harry pulled away, affronted.

Yet his friends, as concerned as they had been before Christmas, had yet to remark on his increasing absences, and in fact had yet to comment on the presence of Thuban who had, of course, moved in with Harry. It was as though they simply couldn't see the bird, or had presumed he had been there all along. Although, given Luna's knowing looks, he was sure at least  _she_  knew exactly where he was going, and who was responsible for the gift of his beautiful new owl. Draco, for his part, had been adamant that they at least  _try_ to maintain some form of discretion. Sneaking around at night did have a certain thrill, Harry realised, but he was beginning to miss the freedom of strolling around hand-in-hand. The Slytherin had met his suggestion that they throw caution to the wind with a raised eyebrow and an expression that thoroughly expressed his displeasure with that idea. He was frustrated until Draco pulled him close and proceeded to snog the living daylights out of him, which more than made up for it all. It was unsurprising, Harry thought, they they had ended up in the dynamic they had. Draco had been told about 'Harry Potter: the Boy-Who-Lived' since he was a child and well Harry had been more than a little obsessed with Draco over the years. There was a thin line and somehow, they had both tipped over into the  _like-like-love_ part. After all, it was much nicer to battle with tongues and groping hands than fists and hexes... or at least Harry thought it was.

Considering they had been a couple for nearly two months by the time Valentine's Day rolled around, and Harry had come to terms with just how  _very-much-in-love_ he was with the blonde haired boy, it was surprising to see the Slytherin so incredibly  _jealous_. Of course the only card, gift and expression of love Harry had given had been to his rather snobby, pretentious boyfriend as they woke slowly together, limbs all tangled beneath the bed-sheets and smiling at one another stupidly. Harry had been tempted to jump the boy there and then, but he wanted it to  _mean_  something - rather than a clumsy hand-job that was far too embarrassing for either to want to remember. Especially as they had done little more than mild groping and, as far as he knew, neither had been  _all-the-way_  before. War, apparently, got in the way of  _everything_. So rather than last-minute, awkward sex, Harry had kissed him until his lips hurt and then buried him in presents of Treacle Fudge and old books that he had found in the Hogsmeade bookshop. The usually prim and proper boy had blushed so violently red, his cheeks looked like they hurt, before handing over a beautiful, wooden, hand-carved bracelet Harry had mentioned falling in love with when he had seen it in a shop in London during the summer, although Draco had added what looked like protection runes to the decoration, and a single, red rose. It was the Gryffindor's turn to blush then and thank his boyfriend as thoroughly as he could, demanding the blonde tie it around his wrist himself and promising that he wouldn't take it off. He felt as carefree and as young as a tween girl. He never felt like a soldier, like a war-veteran, around Draco.

But when they had emerged into the land of hand-holding, snogging and swooning teenagers far too invested in PDA to look properly where they were going, Harry began to gain attention. No one, regardless of his beauty, looked at Draco - he was, in their eyes, tainted. But the Boy-Who-Lived? There were far too many propositions and Harry began to grow uncomfortable, casting apologetic glances as his boyfriend got more and more tense, the lines of his shoulders becoming stiffer and stiffer. It was just bearable, the cooing, the flirty looks and the blushing as they handed him anything: chocolate, flowers, teddy-bears, until a loud voice cut through the noise like a knife. 

"Is there a reason you're propositioning  _my_  boyfriend?" Ginny asked, storming down the corridor, Ron and Hermione close on her heels, both looking equally upset. 

The Ravenclaw girl backed away immediately as Ginny went straight to Harry's side, banishing the objects in his hands instantly. He was thankful his bracelet remained though. The red-head looped her arm through Harry's and pulled him away from the crowd. "Where  _were_  you this morning?" Ginny asked, stepping away and putting her hands on her hips. 

"Out," Harry replied vaguely, suddenly aware of a set of stormy grey eyes on him. 

"Are you avoiding me?" Ginny asked, voice dropping into the guilt-inducing whisper. 

"No," Harry exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair and trying desperately not to get sucked into what he knew was going to be a guilt-trip, "Gin, I'm not. I'm just out a lot, okay. You're still a friend."

"More than a friend mate," Ron interjected, "and you better have got her something, I've already been told off for forgetting the chocolates with the flowers," he exclaimed, wincing when Hermione jabbed him in the ribs and uttered a: "Honestly Ronald, I never said that at  _all_."

"Guys," Harry muttered, pulling them somewhere more private, "I wasn't joking when I broke up with Ginny last year. And I wasn't being horrible when I said we were better as friends, I -"

"Don't finish that sentence," Ginny snapped, huffing loudly and making something ugly twist inside him. "I've been patient Harry, we all have, but this is ridiculous. We're giving you space and time, but maybe that's not what you need. You can't keep pulling away from people, Harry! And you can't keep pulling away from me. We love each other, so we're supposed to talk to one another."

"We're not together!" Harry said through gritted teeth, desperately not trying to make a scene, but struggling to keep his temper in check. "And I am  _not_  in love with you Ginny."

Ron stepped forward. "Hold it," he said, voice rising, "be careful now, okay. That's my sister,  _your girlfriend_ , you're lashing out at."

"As entertaining as this all is, perhaps you might move out of the way so the rest of us can eat today, Weasley, rather than watch you all shout at Potter?" a drawling voice said from behind them. Harry had never been so happy to see Draco than right at that moment. His arms were folded over his chest and he looked bored, but Harry knew him well enough to see the righteous anger burning through his eyes. He looked like he wanted to  _attack_  Ginny in that moment.

"Watch it Malfoy," Ginny retorted. 

"Weaslette, I would have thought you, of all people, would not want to stand in front of the Great Hall, where everyone can see, as Potter breaks up with you," Draco continued, just loud enough to catch the attention of those around him. They turned at once, like a party of sheep, to watch the drama unfold around them. 

"Harry's  _not_  breaking up with me," Ginny snapped, eyes pinned to Draco. 

"So bugger off, Malfoy," Ron added with a snarl. 

"My apologies," the blonde said, lips thin and sarcasm lacing his tone, "I suppose I should have said  _attempting_  to break up with you. He's doing a rather piss poor job of it, don't you think?"

"Draco," Hermione said in warning, noticing the clench of Ron's fist.

"Hermione," Draco shot back, tone hard but smiling almost genuinely. "If you wouldn't mind," he continued, jerking his head to the Hall behind them. The girl nodded once and pushed them all out of the way, ignoring the indignant spluttering from Ron. Harry took the moment to slip past them, taking an empty seat next to Luna on the Ravenclaw table before anyone could stop him, watching closely as his boyfriend ambled to the Slytherin table at the far side of the room. 

"You know Harry," Luna whispered as he sat down, "you could just  _tell_ people you know."

The messy-haired boy looked alarmed for a moment before leaning in. "How'd you know?"

"Wrackspurts," she replied, voice airy but all-knowing, "you and Draco are always surrounded by them."

Harry coughed out a laugh before smiling, knowing full well the girl would keep quiet. "Thanks Luna."

"Of course," she replied, spreading both sides of her toast with jam, much to Harry's amusement. The Gryffindor felt a pair of eyes on him and he glanced up, ignoring the rabble of his friends as they begrudgingly sat down around him. He locked gazes with the storm-coloured orbs of his boyfriend and smiled brightly, and Draco looked away, fondness on his face. 

"Wrackspurts," Luna added conspiratorially. 

"What are you talking about Luna?" Hermione asked, desperately searching for a safe topic. 

"What  _I_ want to talk about," Ron interjected before the blonde could reply, "is how you just let Malfoy,  _Malfoy_ , who is back to his smug prick-ish self it seems, disrespect Ginny and not curse him?" 

"Honestly Ronald," Hermione huffed, "Harry can't simply go around  _cursing_ people."

"Of course he can," Ron shot back, hands in the air suddenly, "if anyone can do it, it's Harry. He could bloody murder the Death Eater and get away with it." There was a pause. "He'd bloody deserve it too," he added snidely. 

"That's not true," Harry said before he could stop himself. The table hushed, sensing an argument. 

Ron's eyebrows climbed higher and higher until they were lost in the red of his hair. "What?! You're defending  _Malfoy_?"

The Hall went silent and a tinge spotted Harry's cheeks. 

"Have you forgotten what that _piece-of-shit_ did to us? What he's said about  _my_ family?" Ron continued, slowly standing and gesticulating wildly. 

"Have you forgotten that  _his father_ was the only reason he even joined Voldemort, that he  _didn't want_ to become a Death Eater and that  _everyone else_ has said much worse things about his family than he's  _ever_ said about yours!" Harry retorted, jumping to his feet and meeting the challenge head on. His blood was rushing through his head and his vision was blurring in his rage.

"Oh, so you're suddenly best-pals right?!" Ron snarled. "Why don't you go over and join him then? Or better yet, why don't you run along and move into the Slytherin dorms, while you're at it? Maybe the hat was right, maybe you  _are_ a Slytherin!"

"Ron -" Hermione shouted. 

"And what's wrong with being a Slytherin, eh?" Harry was shouting now. "What's wrong? Are we seriously going to let  _house-rivalry_ define us for the rest of our lives? What about when we get jobs, are you seriously going to not work with someone, or not help someone, because they were in a  _different-fucking-house_?"

Ron spluttered, stunned for a moment, before he regained his momentum. "He's a Death Eater, Harry!"

"And you were a COWARD!" Harry said, voice furious, oblivious to how Ron went as white as a sheet and Hermione took a sharp breath in. "You ran away because you couldn't handle the hunt for horcruxes and you only found your way back because Dumbledore predicted it, but we don't talk about  _that_ , do we? No. It's all well and good for us to make mistakes, but  _fuck_ them because they have to be  _fucking perfect_!" 

And that was when Ron punched him. 

The red-head's fist slammed into Harry's cheek, glancing off his nose, and his head snapped to the side. He stumbled and immediately people were out of their seats trying to break them up, but Harry launched himself at Ron before they could, ducking under a poorly timed punch and landing two of his own - one to the gut and another that glanced off his jaw. Then, Hermione and Ginny were grabbing hold of Ron as Seamus, Dean and Neville sprinted over to help. Hands wrapped themselves around Harry and he went to thrash his way out of them, but when he turned and met the worried gaze of his boyfriend, he refrained, instead, allowing himself to be pulled clear of the fray. 

"Dammit Harry," Draco hissed, "hold onto me," he said, ushering the Gryffindor to a bench and pulling off his jumper before pressing it to his boyfriend's bleeding face.

"Always," he retorted with a smile, before seeing the look on the Slytherin's face. "What?" he muttered quietly, spitting out blood from his mouth, "I'm not allowed to defend your honour?"

"What on earth is going on?!" the loud, authoritative tone of Minerva McGonagall rang out across the room. The crowd separated, leaving it abundantly clear who was involved, although the sight must have been unusual. Draco Malfoy, holding his own jumper to the bleeding face of Harry Potter, looking darkly at Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and the rest of the Gryffindor cohort. 

"Professor," Hermione began, but McGonagall cut her off instantly. 

"I will  _not_ tolerate fighting, gentlemen," she began, glare fierce as she pinned both Harry and Ron to their seats with the look in her eye. "Now, Mister Malfoy, please take Mister Potter to the Hospital Wing to be patched up," she instructed, a knowing look in her eye. "Ms Granger and Mister Longbottom please accompany Mister Weasley. Everyone else, I believe your lessons will begin momentarily." The Hall emptied in record time, but Draco and Harry were already gone, vanishing into the hallways like smoke on the wind. 

"You're an idiot," Draco snapped when they were alone. "I can't believe you -"

"What?" Harry spluttered, cutting him off, "Ron was bad-mouthing you Draco!"

"It's nothing I haven't heard before," he retorted primly, "and  _nothing_ I can't handle," he added after a moment.

Harry choked on air, indignant of the whole thing. "It's  _different_ now," he hissed.

"For goodness sake, Harry. You can't punch everyone that says something bad about me!"

"Yes I can," the messy-haired boy shot back, "and he punched first."

"That's not the point!"

"It _is_ the point." 

"Potter," Draco warned.

"Malfoy," he echoed.

"Ronald is your friend," the blonde began, slightly more calmly.

"I don't care!" Harry replied, voice far from calm. "I'm not letting anyone, not even my best mate, shit on the guy that I'm in love with," he huffed, annoyed. 

It took him a moment to realise that Draco had stopped walking. 

"What  _now_?" Harry asked, brain still not aware of the words he had just blurted out. "Look, if you're going to keep shouting at me, I'd much -"

"Shut up," Draco breathed, clearly still stunned. "Do you?"

"Do I what?" Harry asked, eyebrows drawn together. "What are -" And  _oh_ , he froze, silently praying the ground would swallow him whole because cannot believe he had just blurted it out so carelessly.

There was a long, awkward silence before:

"Fuck," he swore, shaking his head before meeting his boyfriend's gaze, "that was so not how I wanted to say it for the first time."

They stared at each other for a moment.

Seconds, or minutes, later, Draco seemed to reappear back into himself and managed to pull a cocky smile together as he started to walk again. "So you planned it then, Potter?" he asked casually, although Harry could see right the way through it. 

"A little," he confessed, trying to hide the creeping blush that was working its way up his neck and quell the panic that had monopolised his limbs. "Over dinner maybe, or in bed," he added, trying to smile, but most likely grimacing. 

"In bed is a little tasteless, don't you think?"

"Not after  _sex_ ," he muttered, casting a nervous eye around. "Before the sex."

"Oh, so you think you're getting laid then?" Draco pushed, amusement in his eyes. 

"Well I'm not dying a fucking virgin, Malfoy, I can guarantee you that," he huffed, half embarrassed, but too _gone_ on the boy to really let it bother him. 

"Huh," the boy replied, thinking for a second, eyes wandering from the top of Harry's head all the way down to his feet. "I suppose you  _are_ lovable, Potter," he finally conceded with a careless shrug. 

His heart  _soared._

With a quick glance left and then right, Harry grabbed hold of Draco and all but dragged into a nearby alcove, before proceeding to kiss him until there was no air left. It was clumsy, too enthusiastic and tasted like sweat, blood and strawberry jam, but to Harry it was the best kiss in the world. 


	6. feel like flying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, so all rights to their proper places: J. K. Rowling et al. 
> 
> Ah, Ron, you numpty. 
> 
> Be warned. All the sex: awkwardness and all. 
> 
> Enjoy lovelies (and don't hate me too much, haha)  
> \- R.

"Say it again."

"You're a demanding, prissy little drama queen."

Draco scowled, unimpressed. "You're ruining the moment, Potter."

"Fine," Harry huffed, rolling his eyes like it was a chore, but his lips were curling into a smile of their own accord. "I  _love_ you," he muttered, "happy?"

"Uh-huh," Draco grinned, tightening his grip on the messy-haired boy's waist and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Again," he demanded. 

Harry chuckled and leaned back further, eyes fluttering closed as he enjoyed both the warmth of the fire and the reassuring solidness of his boyfriend sat on the floor behind him. "I love you."

"Again," Draco whispered. 

"I  _love_ you," Harry laughed as the blonde began to pepper kisses along his jaw, his neck, his cheeks - anywhere with bare skin. 

"Good," he murmured against the flesh behind his ear. "I love you too."

"Again," Harry smirked. 

"Oh no, you're rationed," Draco declared haughtily, causing the Gryffindor to snort with laughter and snuggle back into the embrace. There was a comfortable silence, before he huffed dramatically. "Fine," he said, "I love you."

"Good," the boy murmured, turning in Draco's hold and smiling at the boy. It had been only three days since their confession in the hallway; three days since Harry's friendship with Ron imploded into a spectacle for the residents of Hogwarts to marvel at; three days since he, at the tentative permission of Professor McGonagall, had moved into the Room of Requirement. She was initially incredibly reluctant, but at his pleading request and the knowledge that the room was safe from spells and anyone attempting to enter, she had agreed. Although neither Harry, nor Draco, had missed the heavily weighted gaze on them both. But they were adults now: both eighteen and there was little that McGonagall could enforce as long as they stuck to basic Hogwarts rules. So, with as much subtlety as he could manage, Draco promptly moved in too. Although his house-mates didn't seem to notice, or care, given that he had been absent all year. In Harry's case, Hermione and Ron would have no doubt been alarmed at his sudden, and complete, disappearance were they talking to him. But they weren't, so Harry didn't particularly care for their opinion. 

Revelling in Draco's attentions had been nice, but with their constant proximity and the knowledge that they were both in the relationship for the long-haul, there was a sudden tension. A palpable thing that both of them knew of but neither were quite willing to broach. They were, after all, teenage boys. Teenage boys with certain needs.

And Merlin, Harry wanted Draco constantly. It was a persistent, burning fire in the pit of his stomach: like molten lava smouldering away within him that left him craving things he'd never thought he would and stripping himself raw in the shower at the mere  _idea_ of being  _inside_ Draco, or Draco being inside  _him_. He'd whimpered in pleasure as his mind supplied image after image, no longer hampered by the fear-soaked  _what-if_ that had subconsciously haunted him before. Because now he knew that his feelings were returned: more than that, they were eagerly, willingly, unequivocally returned.

"You better not be thinking about Ginny," came a huff against the back of his neck. Harry frowned, half turning as his mouth opened, before he realised that he was  _aching_ with need. Draco's hands were still around his waist, but one had splayed out over his stomach, inches from the eager bulge in his trousers. 

"Shit," he replied, embarrassed, "sorry."

"S'no worry," Draco continued against the skin of his neck, biting gently there and doing nothing to help his libido. "We, uh,  _can_ , if you want," he said casually, although there was an undercurrent of tension there that Harry couldn't miss. 

"I, uh," he cleared his throat, blushing, "I... uh - not sure how," he confessed. "I mean, I know, obviously," he huffed, gesturing to himself, "but uh, not - like, uh, both of us, I'm - I wouldn't know, uh -"

"I do," the Slytherin said. Harry tensed slightly so he continued. "Room of  _Requirement_ , Potter," he muttered. "It gave me a book on, uh,  _everything_."

"Oh," Harry murmured softly. "That'd be, uh, nice."

"Nice?" Draco laughed. "You sure know how to romance a guy," he snorted. "C'mere," he said, turning Harry around until he was straddling his lap. "Do you trust me?" he asked gently, fingers tracing his face.    

"Of course," Harry replied. "And  _I-love-you_." He paused, leaning in slightly until his lips were just about brushing Draco's. "And I, uh,  _want_ this."

Draco grinned and leaned forward, running his tongue along the seam of Harry's lips. They swapped lazy kisses until the remaining tension had oozed from Harry's body and his hands had wrapped their way around the blonde's neck. He had almost forgotten about it all until Draco's hips tilted themselves slightly and jerked upwards, causing the pair to grind on one another and there were stars behind his eyes. 

"Steady," Draco whispered against his lips as Harry bucked rather violently into the blonde's touch, but there was a trepidation beneath the word that made Harry feel less vulnerable: they were stepping into the unknown together.  

"Just kiss me," the Gryffindor demanded, pushing against him until he was flat on his back. 

"We should be in a bed," Draco protested, but Harry was  _not_ letting him stand up for anything. His complaints died down a few seconds later - although it was difficult to speak with Harry's tongue in his mouth. They traded kisses until one of them, though neither boy was sure which, changed the tempo. They turned demanding,  _possessive_ , brutal almost, nipping at bone, sharp edges of whatever feature they were closest to, and marking one another so thoroughly that discretion was just a word in the dictionary and subtlety vanished with Harry's nervousness. The messy-haired boy was busy sucking a purple-red bruise on the side of his boyfriend's neck when a hand slipped up beneath his shirt and traced over the plains of his stomach approvingly. There was a moment of self-doubt: he wasn't a Greek-god with bulging muscles, nor did he have abdominals like a old wash-board; he was simply Harry - not quite as scrawny as he had been as a young teenager, and scarred by the war. Draco though, seemed not to see those imperfections, if the way he sat up sharply and dragged the boy close to him by his shirt was any indication. He seemed more than a little turned on by the prospect of bearing the younger boy to the air. He flipped them, so Harry was on his back, legs hooked around Draco's waist, and his surprise was swallowed greedily by the Slytherin. He pulled away for a moment, although only to murmur something under his breath and pull his shirt over his head. Instantly, Harry was more comfortable and it took his brain a moment to register that Draco must have cast a cushioning charm. The thanks vanished as his boyfriend banished his own shirt and returned his mouth to Harry's own.    

The positioning made it easy for Harry to grind against the blonde and so proceeded to mash their groins together with little finesse but enough force to produce a more than pleasurable outcome if the hisses whistling from between Draco's teeth were anything to go by. The low bubbling heat in his groin was building to a peak the more he surged up and into the body hovering inches above him, but Draco still wasn't doing anything  _more_ and it took the Boy-Who-Lived a moment to realise that maybe he was waiting for permission. So he let one hand sneak down and began to tug at Draco's belt, signalling as boldly as he could that he wanted it, that he  _wanted it all_. Draco pulled away, searching Harry's gaze for something, before nodding, almost to himself, and shucked his trousers down to his knees before kicking them off, and helping Harry do the same. He gentled their coupling then. Slowing the kisses to something that simmered with passion rather than burned with it. Initially Harry was annoyed, having enjoyed the pace they had set, but he realised quickly what Draco was trying to do: _make love, not fuck,_ a small part of his brain supplied. And wasn't that the sweetest thing in the world?

The blonde hesitated again, fingers hovering over the waistband of Harry's boxers and the messy-haired boy's heart was suddenly in his throat, but he took a long steadying breath and smiled against Draco's lips. "I want this," he whispered gently, his own hands reaching down to tug at the elastic waistband of Draco's underwear. A quick movement later and Harry was very much aware of his own nudity and the self-doubt came barrelling to the front of his mind, causing the ache in his groin to dim somewhat. 

But there was something unreadable in Draco's gaze when Harry finally opened his eyes. Almost awe-struck, but  _more_. Reverence, perhaps, adoration, _worship_. "You're beautiful," Draco murmured, tongue heavy with the words and tripping over itself. "Absolutely beautiful," he repeated, love shining in his expression and making something warm fill Harry to the brim as a hot-red blush cascaded down his spine. 

"Not bad yourself," Harry finally returned, marvelling at the miles of pale, soft and smooth skin - marred occasionally by scars that only made him all the more beautiful - and then they were suddenly both naked. "Woah," the Boy-Who-Lived choked when he finally saw  _all_ of Draco. Because he was even more stunning: suited more to having art and sculptures made in his image than admired solely by Harry in the fire-lit Room of Requirement. Draco blushed, but then they were kissing again, so it didn't really matter. 

"They said this bit might, uh,  _hurt_ ," the blonde began, gasping as Harry returned to sucking bruises on his neck. "I mean, if you -  _ah-fuck-Potter_ \- wanted to, uh,  _bottom_ first time. I mean I can,  _ah_ , I can,  _uh_ , be -"

"Nuh-uh," Harry breathed, "I like it like,  _ah_ , this," he continued, shaking his hips in exaggeration.

"Okay," he replied, "okay, okay, okay," he chanted, waving his hand and making a grateful sound when his wand appeared in it. "Hold still," he murmured, before whispering something Harry didn't catch. Something cold spread through Harry's lower back and arse, as though he had sat in cold, wet sand. He must have looked quizzical because Draco offered: "cleaning charm" before his hands were suddenly much further south than Harry had even gone before. "Relax for me, love," he said, slicking his fingers in lube that he conjured from  _who-knows-where_ and licking his lips. 

His first finger sank in all the way without a problem. Harry hissed loudly, back arching, but almost laughing at the look of pure concentration on Draco's face. He was pressing against the soft walls, clearly looking for something until a soft "Ah," left his mouth and he pressed down hard. The Gryffindor  _keened,_ something primal tearing itself from his throat and his erection bobbed, spitting out pearl-white drops in shock at the pleasure that had shot through his system. 

"Oh god,  _Draco_ ," he cried as the boy pushed in a second painfully slowly to join the first and began to slowly massage the area, making his vision almost white out. 

"Prostate," the Slytherin explained, other hand now flat on Harry's stomach and holding him down. Draco was still as hard and aching, so much so that he had begun to absentmindedly rut against the inside of the green-eyed boy's thigh, leaving a sticky trail in his wake as he fingered him. It could have been minutes, hours or days, before he muttered, "Three now," and withdrew before pushing forward with three fingers all the way down to the knuckle. And it  _hurt_. Tears pricked the corner of Harry's eyes and something like a yelp broke free. Draco stopped instantly, waiting until his boyfriend had relaxed. Eventually Harry nodded and Draco began to move, slowly, stretching him out. His other hand, however, had begun to tease and stroke Harry's wilted erection, bringing him quickly to full-mast once more as he began to fuck up into the friction, more focused on his dick than his ass. 

Then suddenly everything stopped and Harry babbled, confused. Draco returned instantly and there was something cold, hard and  _fat_ pressing at his entrance. 

"You okay?" the blonde asked gently, pressing a kiss to the underside of the Gryffindor's jaw. 

"Uh-huh,  _yeah_ , just, Merlin, do it,  _do it_ ," he said in one long breath. Draco kissed him, tongues tangling, and inched forward.  

Harry's body immediately clamped down on the intruder and Draco was making little choked sounds, like he was in pain. "Relax, love," he gasped, feeding himself into the boy beneath him. He was halfway when the burn started again and Harry felt like he couldn't take much more. He held still, flapping at Draco to wait, until his body had softened enough for them to continue. 

It felt like an age, slow progress and continuous stopping and starting which saw Harry's erection vanish completely and sweat break out on his forehead. His thighs had begun to shake and he was starting to cramp: not to mention the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that was becoming more and more painful. But despite that, and Draco's continuous offerings that they stop, he didn't want the feeling to end - the feeling of being so intrinsically linked to another person. And when Draco was finally in up the root, face a picture of barely holding himself together, he brushed that place inside Harry that made his eyes roll back in his head in pleasure; and after a few tentative thrusts and a hand blurring as it stripped his dick, he was hard and aching again.

And he was loud. 

He was glad that the Room of Requirement had the spells and protections it did, because he would have woken not only Hogwarts, but their dead as well. Even with Draco's smooth, rocking, loving thrusts, he was moaning, gasping and cursing like a wanton, two dollar whore eager for a dirty fuck in a back alley. Although judging from the heat in his boyfriend's eyes, Draco was more than a little turned on by the noises pouring from his lips. "So beautiful," he was crooning, hips meeting the flesh of his ass-cheeks, "and all mine, Harry, all  _mine_. Fuck," he cursed, "you're so tight and  _gorgeous_." He seemed to have lost control of his own mouth too, the running commentary alternating between how in love he was with the Boy-Who-Lived and just how perfect he was for Draco to fuck. 

When Draco pulled him forward, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, and sat him on his lap, however, Harry's brain short-circuited, because suddenly his boyfriend was even  _deeper_ inside him and carving out a space for himself that Harry didn't even know he could reach. His hips began to rotate in short, tight circles, pulling groans from the blonde and keeping constant pressure on his prostate. It was hell - and heaven - in one glorious position, and soon he was bouncing up and down of his own accord, completely unaware that he was doing so; head tossed back, hands on Draco's shoulders and dick rutting against the Slytherin's stomach.  The Gryffindor was slowly losing his mind, unravelling under the onslaught of sensations and over-stimulation, much to the glee of the Pureblood who offered little assistance, other than the occasional thrust upwards, throwing Harry through a loop as he desperately tried to get them both off. Draco's lips were curled into a smile, but kept being distorted by the pleasure that rifled through him.

And then they were coming. Harry's muscles all tensed at once, back arching violently forward as Draco shouted Harry's name amongst a stream of profanity, jerking his hips upwards as though to bury himself further inside the boy. And the world was painted white: behind the Gryffindor's eyes, on him,  _in_ him. It was everywhere. And he was shaking, shivering, _quivering_ , he wasn't sure, but he felt like a newborn foal, unsteady and unsure if he could stand properly. But Draco was there, gently rocking his hips, a low, rumbling moan trapped in his chest as he rode out their orgasms and waited until he'd softened enough to slip free from the boy beneath him. 

"I -  _fuck_ \- I love -  _ah -_ love you," the blonde murmured, eyes hooded and barely open and still,  _still_ , rotating his hips. 

He slipped free as Harry leaned forward, content to pant into Draco's neck, blissed out and still not having returned to himself. "Tha' wa' good," Harry slurred after a few moments, the fire keeping him warm even as the sweat, and other bodily fluids, cooled on his skin. 

"Uh-huh," Draco smiled, holding his boyfriend close. "Feel good?"

"Feel like flyin'," he shot back before pausing. "Wanna go 'gain?" he asked eventually, looking up from beneath his eyelashes. Draco laughed, bright and so, so  _happy_. 

"I've created a monster," the blonde finally muttered, smiling stupidly. 

"Yup," Harry grinned, because  _holy-fuck-that-was-better-than-kissing_. "I go' new hobby," he continued, much to his boyfriend's amusement. 

And they had. 

It was as though the word slow had vanished from both of their vocabularies. Perhaps it was because after having finally  _done-it_ , the worry, fear and anticipation was gone. Suddenly they were in a full romantic, physical, mental, sexual relationship - all the 'als as Harry had so delightfully put it - and nothing worried them much anymore. Although neither found marathon shagging particularly their style. 

"To much fucking effort," Harry declared one Saturday in early March after three (and a half, Harry had added later) rounds back-to-back. "Nuh-huh," he continued, rolling over to see Draco heaving in breath after breath before glancing down at his dick and frowning. 

"I think it's actually  _chafed_ ," he muttered, horrified. Harry laughed himself hoarse at that.

But as their relationship grew, developed and progressed, Harry found himself increasingly isolated from Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindors. Only Neville and Luna spoke to him as though nothing had happened, joining him on study sessions, walks around Hogwarts and even trips to Hogsmeade. It was strange, too, to see Neville interact with Draco. After a rather awkward apology from the Slytherin and, Harry was sure, some encouragement from Luna, Neville was actually rather friendly with the blonde - especially when the two discovered their joint love of Herbology and Draco offered to help him with potions. It was the end of March when Harry discovered that Neville had worked out the true nature of their relationship however.

"I understand now why you weren't - uh -  _fond_ of Ginny anymore," he said gently one afternoon in the library as Draco and Luna scoured the shelves for some book or another, Harry wasn't sure. The alarm, he was sure, was palpable, because Neville only put his hands up in surrender. "I - uh, see the way you look at him," he explained with a shrug. "And he's changed," the brown-haired boy added, "you're  _good_ for each other, I think."

Draco had blushed red when Harry pressed a quick, fond kiss to his cheek when they finally returned, flustered and flapping at him. He quickly quietened when Neville reassured him, however. 

"You're a good person, Longbottom," he declared, words ringing with a sincerity not even  _he_ could fake. 

"You're not bad yourself, Malfoy," Neville returned with a friendly smile. 

And they were suddenly a group of four. A strange, unlikely group, of course, and most of Hogwarts were perplexed by it. But a group they were, nevertheless. Sitting quietly together at meals, moving from one class to another, exchanging notes and ignoring the vehement glares from Ginny and Ron (as Hermione had decided to focus her attention on avoiding the conflict rather than engage with it).

But even though it hurt to be so isolated from the first family he had really known, the welcoming warmth from Neville and Luna had made him burst with joy. It was nice, to see that some of his friends had not only  _accepted_ Draco, but had begun to see just how incredible he was - a glorious part of Harry's life that he hoped wasn't going anywhere soon. It gave him hope for the future, where they could be open and free about them without anyone jumping to the conclusion of spells, love potions or curses. He wanted  _everyone_ to know just how amazing Draco was. How loving, how kind, how  _beautiful_ \- inside, and out. 

Harry turned over, looking fondly at the sleeping body beside him, smothered in moonlight and looking more angelic than any creature he had ever seen before.

They weren't going anywhere.    


	7. if you love me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, so all rights to the proper places: J. K. Rowling et al. 
> 
> Right, angst ahead. Be warned, this may get a little bit shitty with some insults and homophobic language, so if you're easily triggered, please don't read. We only want happy campers here, lovelies. 
> 
> Alright, be good, and stay safe,  
> \- R.

Fuck, he was  _happy_. 

Like really, really fucking happy. 

Could he  _skip_ to class? Could he make  _daisy-chains_ and wear them around his neck? Could he roll down steep hills in meadows and stain every piece of clothing he owned with grass? He  _wanted_ to. Because he was literally drinking sunshine and dancing on rainbows. He couldn't remember being this happy: although decent grades, morning blow-jobs and the most amazing boyfriend being madly in love with him were certainly three things to be incredibly,  _undeniably,_ happy about. There was never a time he felt better. 

His life was just, finally, beginning. No more worrying about surviving, hunting down anything to topple a cruel dictator and Harry had finally accepted that if Ron and Hermione wanted to be his friends, then they would make the effort themselves. He didn't have to think about reconnecting anymore - Draco had quietly, but firmly, told him that if they didn't see how amazing he was and didn't accept his judgement, then they didn't deserve to be his friends. It alleviated the last sense of guilt he didn't realise he'd been carrying. Although, a quiet part of his brain marvelled at how quickly they had turned on him for simply  _sticking-up-for_ a Malfoy, let alone sleeping with one...being in  _love_ with one.

God, he was so happy. 

He felt dizzy with it. And Draco: he couldn't stop the smile from spreading over his face. A lump caught in his throat and tears sometimes pricked his eyes as he considered how lucky he was to be so loved, so saved by this soul who deserved everything life could give. He had flaws, of course, but he was sarcastic, witty and never failed to call Harry out on his bullshit. He was kind, caring and soft underneath the prickly exterior. And he wanted everyone to see. 

They had discussed coming out more in the past few weeks than they had over their entire relationship. But given that soon exams would monopolise their time and then, of course, the rest of their lives would begin, they had begun to realise that keeping them under-wraps wouldn't necessarily be an option anymore. Draco, of course, had been more than a little nervous - citing more than a dozen reasons each time the point was raised at just how wrong it could go. It ranged from being shouted at in the street to being thrown in Azkaban for bewitching the famed Boy-Who-Lived. But Harry need only point to Luna and Neville and their warm, welcoming smiles, to prove that not everyone would react that way. Unfortunately, that had not alleviated many tensions. He didn't want to force his boyfriend to come out if he wasn't ready, but so far Draco's only objections had been to opposition rather than his own fear of the world knowing he swung  _that_ way. 

Then there was the issue of accommodation. The Manor wasn't an option. Not only did Narcissa live there and, eventually, Lucius would too, but the place held too many bad memories. Harry would have been happy to move back into Grimmauld Place, but Draco had turned his nose up at that too - claiming that he didn't abandon one Pureblood ancestral home to live in another. So they had decided to get their own place. But with the wizarding community eager to watch Harry at every turn, it meant that shopping around for flats was more difficult than they were expecting. But it was a challenge both had thrown themselves into: albeit Harry slightly more eagerly than Draco, the latter still mithered about their inevitable coming out party. Although, if anything, their decision had only brought them closer, because despite the occasional heated discussion, they began to learn even more about themselves. Like Draco, who wanted a big window in their living room, a room for books if possible and a fireplace. Harry wanted an east facing bedroom, a big kitchen and a fireplace. They'd teased each other over preferences, which resulted in several thrown pillows, pretend offence and a thorough snog. 

But oh, he was happy. Because life was finally good. 

And there, emerging from a nearby alcove, was the reason for his happiness. Although Draco looked a little out of sorts, no doubt worrying again, and Harry frowned before glancing around to make sure the coast was clear. It was. And so he  _did_ skip over to the blonde. 

Draco barked out a half-laugh, nervousness easing slightly at the sight of him. "What are you doing?" he asked, clearly confused. 

"What?" Harry snorted, "I can't skip to my boyfriend? You weren't complaining about me skipping yesterday," he said, snaking a hand around his waist and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Because they both knew that _complaint_ wasn't a word that featured in Draco's vocabulary yesterday. In fact all words other than 'fuck', 'yes', 'Harry' and 'there', had vanished from his vocabulary. Something akin to embarrassment tinged the boy's cheeks. 

"Boyfriend?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, are we going with  _partner_ now?" Harry chuckled. "I know we agreed to be more mature now we're madly in love and all," he grinned, "but I was joking about the whole boyfriend/partner debate. We're eighteen, I don't think we need to grow up too soon." He paused, smiling brightly. "Although we do need to start _physically_ looking for flats, unless you've changed your mind about moving into Grimmauld Place with me?" He leaned up to kiss the blonde but was startled when he stepped back sharply, away from the affection and far outside of the embrace. Harry's heart skipped then - although for an entirely different reason - because that reaction? - _that_ was new. "Draco?" he asked, voice small. 

"What the  _hell_ are you doing?" he hissed, eyes wide and, dare Harry say it, almost violent. 

"I was going to kiss you," he snapped back, trusting the anger rising in him more than any of the other hundred tumbling, confusing emotions, "but if you're going to be so  _pissy_ then, well, you can blow yourself tonight."

Draco choked on his own air, eyes darting around frantically. His hands came out of their own accord, palms flat on his chest and pushing Harry further away. "Enough," he snarled, shock forgotten and rage taking its place. " _enough_."

"What the  _hell_ has gotten into you?" Harry demanded, looking around again. "There's no one here - no one can see." Anger was now confusion. What on  _earth_ was going on?

"I'm not doing this," Draco muttered, shaking his head, searching desperately for something, but Harry didn't know what. 

"Do what, Draco?"

"This!" the boy shouted, voice echoing off the stone as his storm-eyes pinning him to his place. "This  _bullshit_ airy-fairy fucking  _nonsense_. I'm not moving in with you, I'm not doing anything with you, and whatever you think has been going on, you're clearly fucking mistaken."

Harry felt like he'd been slapped. 

"What's brought this on?" he asked, trying to keep his tone level, but from the wobble of his voice, it wasn't working. "Did someone find out?" he pressed. Draco twitched uncomfortably. "Who found out?" Harry demanded. " _Who_?"  Suddenly it became very clear just who, a light flickering behind his eyes. "Ron and Ginny, I presume it's them who know about us," he muttered darkly. "Look, I'll talk to them, I'll -"

"No," Draco snarled. "I don't want you talking to them. I don't want you do to anything other than run back to your Gryffindor friends and leave me the hell alone. You were fun while you lasted, Potter, but now you're just boring."

Harry's heart dropped like a stone into his stomach, the world draining of colour around him. "What?" he whispered, hoarsely. _No, no, no_ \- this couldn't be happening _._ Not now.  _Not now_. 

"I'm done," the Slytherin shouted, ripping through Harry as though it was nothing. "I'm done. I'm not a fag, I never was, and well, fucking you was a good way to prove I could still get one over on the light side," he added, clearly rambling, but Harry was numb. "And I did. And well, there you go - revenge. Revenge for all you did, because I wanted him to win Harry. This, this is all  _bullshit_."

"I don't believe you," Harry choked out, tears welling up in his eyes. 

"I don't care what you believe, Potter, you're a fucking  _fag_ , a  _retard_ , a  _perverted-little-shit_ and I have no intention of every going near someone like you again. Of going near  _you_ again. You disgust me," he spat.

And he meant it too.

Every part of Harry was screaming at him that it was a lie, that he was being forced to say it, but there wasn't an ounce, an  _inch_ , of deception on Draco's face. He believed every word that left his mouth. To him, Harry was disgusting, he was a fag, a pervert. He believed it. _Draco hated him_. 

And Harry wondered how he could ever be  _so_ wrong. 

"I  _love_ you," he sobbed, heart shattering and uncaring of the tears flowing down his cheeks, because no - this was the by he wanted to spend his life with. Draco was the one he wanted to hold onto and never let go. His first time, his first meaningful kiss other than a quick snog under mistletoe. Draco was the only one he'd ever _loved_. And had Draco waited just long enough for him to put out to - 

Harry felt sick. 

"You don't love me Potter," the blonde returned haughtily. "Maybe you think you do, but I don't care. You were fun while you lasted, but all this talk of seriousness and commitment had made me realise that I need to end this, this  _perverted thing._ I was lonely, I needed a good fuck and well, you were convenient. I'm not playing house with you Potter. And I'm certainly not going to let my family sink any lower. Our names are already dragged through the mud as it is, I can't have the attention of the Prophet on me _more_. I have to rebuild the honour of my name, not deal with you and your need to pick out matching curtains."

"I don't - I don't," he cried, barely able to force out the words. His chest was collapsing inwards, forcing out the air like a deflating balloon. He could practically hear the hissing breath whistling through his teeth. "You  _did_ love me, you  _do,_ I know it, I - stop this, Draco please, if, if - if you love me -"

"I  **don't**."

His tone was final: a last nail in the coffin, and suddenly the messy haired boy felt his feet give out underneath him. He crumpled to the ground, openly crying, waiting for something, anything: a hand up, an apology, a moment for the boy to cry and hold him close and whisper in his hair that he didn't mean it. But this? This was everything he feared - that the pressure of being out, of Harry _pushing_ , would force the boy to leave him. The blode had hit every soft-target Harry had and he was shattering underneath it all. And still he waited, heaving in breaths like a drowning man. But Draco? - he turned on his heel and stalked away, the parting words of "Goodbye,  _Potter_ " ringing in his ears.

Harry didn't know how long he was there. It could have been days, weeks, even years. Time was irrelevant and useless now. Because he  _couldn't understand_ , but somehow he knew it was his fault. He had pushed too much. He must have, he  _must have_. It was the only explanation. 

Suddenly there were hands on him, helping him to his feet and soothing him as he heaved out great, chest racking sobs as they ripped themselves free of his mouth. His heart skipped because Draco, Draco was back and he didn't mean it and -

He stopped. Because that smell, that familiar warmth and the lines of that body? That wasn't Draco.

" _Hermione_?" he croaked. 

"It's okay, Harry," she was saying, over and over again, letting him blubber on her shirt. 

"He hates me," he whispered, voice cracking in oh-so-many places. "He  _hates_ me, he  _hates_ me," he chanted, unable to form any other coherent thought. 

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she murmured, pressing a reassuring kiss to his temple, as though he was a young child, and she, his mother. "It's going to be okay." She seemed as lost as he did - both of them on a boat alone at sea, waves crashing in over the sides.

"But he  _hates_ me," he sobbed.

Another set of hands were suddenly on him and a set of firm lines:  _Ron._

"Maybe," he said, "but we don't, mate," Ron promised, patting him awkwardly on the back. "And you're home now." 


	8. don't let go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, so all rights to their proper places: J.K Rowling et al.
> 
> Sorry for the super long time since I last posted, but life has been crazy busy and I have been weighed under with work, work, and more work...
> 
> Anyway, enjoy my lovelies,  
> \- R.

It was Luna who told him. 

After possibly the worst night sleep that Harry had ever endured, he woke late in his room in the Gryffindor Tower, mouth dry, throat and eyes sore. The place was empty, but bed-sheets familiarly rumpled: it was clear that his dorm-mates had heard his sobs then. But he was too exhausted to be embarrassed by that. 

Because Draco had  _left him_. 

Suddenly, all the sad songs made sense: those wailing, hyperbolic cries that he'd had to endure whenever Hermione was feeling particularly melancholy, that spoke of  _the-best-thing-they'd-ever-had-being-over_ , and that  _-life-was-grey_ and  _that-their-hearts-don't-work_ , were like kindred spirits, bouncing around the echoing vault of his mind, mocking him.  _Supporting him_ , too, in a way: at least he wasn't alone in this awful, crushing feeling. There were others who felt like they were drowning under the weight of hopelessness, others who knew what it felt like to choke on feelings as they crawled up his throat, stabbing as his eyes with a relentless maliciousness; others who had felt that their guts had been pulled out through their belly-button. And they had survived. 

So he could. 

By the time he crawled out from underneath the covers, attempted to shower and stumbled out into the common room, it was well past lunchtime. The place was deserted other than Luna, sat quietly on her own in the far corner, the most recent copy of the Quibbler in her lap. She glanced up when he entered. 

"Harry," she murmured, tilting her head to one side. "Neville told me what happened," she explained. 

Harry felt a sob rise in his throat, but he forced it down and nodded stiffly. "Yeah," he croaked, half shrugging. 

"Draco left this morning," she continued. "He's gone home. I thought someone should tell you."

"He's...he's  _gone_ ," Harry whispered, voice cracking harshly and recoiling as thought slapped.  _Did he really hate him that much_ _?_  

"He didn't say goodbye to me either," Luna muttered, almost upset. "Something must have happened Harry," she reasoned. "No one can convince me that he didn't love you." She paused slightly. "The Wrackspurts don't lie."

"Maybe they  _do_ ," Harry snapped, anger welling up inside him. Luna's eyes darkened slightly at that and she stood. 

"Harry Potter," she said sharply. "The Wrackspurts don't lie. And Draco  _loves_ you. I know it."

The Boy-Who-Lived deflated like a balloon. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I'm,  _shit_ , I'm struggling here Luna."

"I know," the blonde nodded, smiling kindly before hesitating and slipping one of her necklaces over her head and looping it over Harry's. "To protect you," she explained, dropping a kiss on his cheek before turning and skipping out of the common room, beaming at Neville who just happened to be entering at that moment. 

"You're up," he greeted.

Harry looked up from the odd looking pendent on the end of the chain he had been given and studied his friend. "Hardly," he chuckled weakly, but it was too watery to really have any affect other than depress them both. The messy-haired boy practically stumbled to the sofa and flopped into it, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes - to stop himself from crying or to wake him up more, he wasn't really sure. Everything felt too raw, too bright, too loud. He just wanted the world to pause, to stop and rewind. To  _dull_. He feel as hollow as he did inside. 

"I agree with her you know," Neville said quietly, lingering awkwardly on the periphery of Harry's vision. 

"Huh?"

"Malfoy," Neville clarified. "He was an asshole, sure, but he changed. And there's no way he faked being crazy about you."

"Neville, I really don't want to talk about it," Harry replied, fingers turning the charm over and over. 

"Okay," the boy relented before pausing. "But I'm here if you need me to be, Harry," he murmured, smiling, "just don't let go, alright. Don't push us all away." He turned then, heading up to the dorms. 

"Thanks Nev," he muttered to the empty room. Not that he planned on taking him up on the offer. 

He didn't want to talk about it - about how the one person he truly, truly loved had left him. He didn't want to talk about how his life had fallen apart like a house of cards. He didn't want to talk about how he hadn't seen it. 

And it turned out that his friends didn't want to either. 

Ron, Hermione, even Ginny, had simply started up where they had been before Christmas. Ghosting over the obvious elephant in the room, it was as though he had never moved out, that he had never defended Draco. And they didn't mention that he had  _been_ with Draco. Or how they  _knew_ that he had been with Draco. It was as though the group had taken a vow of silence about the whole thing. Initially Harry thought it was to protect him: an unspoken thing to help him move on, but he quickly realised as the days began to pass that it was nothing more than the simple fact that they  _didn't want_ to talk about it. 

So Harry stewed in his own thoughts. 

Spring turned to Summer with little fanfare, people breaking from classes to sit by the lake and bask in sun and freedom. Hogwarts didn't talk of how Harry Potter didn't smile anymore. And they certainly didn't talk about he was never seen anymore: about how he huddled in his room back in the Gryffindor Tower, staring at walls and barely managing to entertain anyone other than Luna and Neville. Hermione had long since given up on trying to lure him out of the room and Ron's tactics (ranging from forcing him out, threatening him, bribing him and tricking him) had long since dulled to glares and rolling of the eyes. When he didn't sleep, stare out the window or talk to Thuban, he studied. It turned out that Draco's motivations, tactics and suggestions still lingered in his mind, meaning that despite not attending any classes, he was managing to maintain an E in all of his subjects but Defence, where he boasted an O. Ron had called him a nerd on many occasions, but Harry didn't really care. Especially as he quickly discovered that the more he engaged with Ron, the more he had to deal with Ginny - who, it seemed, was once more under the illusion that they were going to be together. Perhaps she didn't _know_ that he had been  _with_ Draco, or maybe she thought he was bisexual, not gay - which, as he had discovered in his self-imposed solitude, was most definitely the case. So he distanced himself, knowing full well that Ron was no longer worth the hassle of Ginny. At first they had protested, but they had long since given up - instead choosing to talk in low, hushed whispers amongst themselves. 

And Harry promptly ignored them all. 

It had gotten so bad that the Prophet had already run not one, not two, but  _three_ front-page stories about the apparent melancholy of the Boy-Who-Lived, who's theories ranged from the positively ludicrous - the return of Voldemort - to the more plausible - that he was suffering from nightmares of the war and PTSD. In each of them, they praised the efforts of those close to him: his best mates and his girlfriend - Ginny - who had managed to take up as much of the last article as Harry had. Had the boy been in his right frame of mind, he would have actually confronted the girl about that. But he didn't care enough.

And nothing he did made up for the hole in his chest that just  _wouldn't_ heal. He smiled every now and again, now, but it still felt too brittle to be a win: as though the smallest thing was going to fracture him. 

By the time they were preparing for graduation, Harry was convinced he'd never move on. He saw nothing but an endless black tunnel stretching out before him. In a way it was pathetic - to be so dependant on another person for his happiness - but he had long since come to terms with the fact that Draco was his second chance at life. A second chance that most people didn't get. The boy was a way out for Harry, someone to love, to be loved: he could have been Harry's everything and Harry had been sure he would be Draco's everything in return. 

Luna's hand had been entwined with his for most of the day, squeezing his fingers gently every time he heaved a deep, shuddering breath, as they packed up their rooms slowly on that last evening; because this was _it_. He was leaving the only home he'd had in his life - the place that had taught him, saved him, and made him who he was, forever. 

Well, not forever, if McGonagall had been serious with her offer of a job. Although he knew he needed to get his head on properly before he accepted anything. Ron, of course, had been unhappy with that decision - still under the illusion that they would be joining Auror programme together in a month's time. But Harry had been fighting for long enough. He wanted something peaceful - reasonably peaceful that was; he still wanted a little flare in his life. Draco, of course, had been enough flare for him. It seemed he'd have to look elsewhere.

Neville joined them as they made their way to the feast, smiling gently and taking Luna's other hand. Something warm burned inside of the messy-haired Gryffindor at the sight, because his friends were  _good_ together. And both deserved a win after everything they'd been through - the war, the loss, and dealing with Harry in his depressed, non-communicative state for the last weeks of their eighth year. Neville blushed when he saw the look in Harry's eyes, but grinned too, because it had been a while since he'd seen any sort of positive emotion on his friend's face. 

"Potter," a voice said from behind them. Harry turned, surprised, and met the intense stare of the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, loitering in the archway behind them. 

Luna and Neville stopped, but the expression on Kingsley's face told him that the conversation they were about to have was not for anyone else's ears. "Go ahead guys," Harry said with a half smiled, touching the pendant around his neck that Luna had given him weeks previously. "I'll catch up." They nodded slowly and wandered away, hands not dropping away from one another. Harry watched them go before turning back to the official. "Minister," he greeted, "can I help you?"

The man, cloaked in his usual bright robes, fidgeted, uncharacteristically nervous. "We need your help, Potter, and you're not going to like what I'm going to ask you."

Harry's heart dropped and his face hardened. "What?" he asked, uncaring of seeming rude. 

"This is about Draco Malfoy," he began slowly and Harry's heart skipped a beat because there was  _no way_ that anyone other than his close friends  _knew_ about them. 

"And what does Draco have to do with me?" he asked, silently cursing that his voice cracked over the name. Kingsley heard it if his slight wince was anything to go by. 

The man stepped closer, pinning Harry to the spot with his gaze. "His trial is beginning in two days. We have all the evidence, the testimonies, and he's going away, Harry, I can promise you that, but we need your statement," he explained, before raising a hand as Harry's mouth dropped open, "and I know that we promised you'd never be bothered about this. But we can't send the man to Azkaban permanently without your account of what happened."

He was staring at Harry, clearly waiting for a reply. 

He was clearly not expecting Harry to blurt:

"What the  _fuck_ are you talking about?"


	9. unsteady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, so all rights to their proper places: J.K. Rowling et al. 
> 
> Phew, another chapter down. And in quick succession because I felt kinda bad about taking so long - 
> 
> Thanks for the love,  
> \- R.

The day Hermione found him, Harry was quiet. 

Too quiet. 

His eyes were unfocused, staring blankly into the fire in the Gryffindor common room, too still. Vacant, stranded between awareness and memory, numb and carved out -  _hollow_. He felt unsteady in his own skin, and stranger in another man's person-suit: an impostor, a fiend, a foreigner. The world was nothing more than a low buzz, like the sound of wings thrumming around him, filling the air with useless, white noise that did nothing to quell the dull  _thump-thump_ of his heart that echoed in the empty cavern of his head. 

"Harry," someone had insisted. Hermione, Ginny, perhaps even Luna, the voice was just another layer to the blending, oscillating, undulating tapestry of sound. 

A hand had touched him. 

He remembered turning slowly, dragging himself around, the effort painful and weary. His mouth parted slightly, as though to speak, but his lips soon fell shut. What was there to say? What was there to say to  _them_? So he had just stared at her with a dead gaze before shifting his attention back to the fire, not saying a word and saying all too much.

Someone muttered something, but it was lost to the flickering, red flames like a sacrifice pitched onto a pyre. He had wondered if Draco was looking at the same thing. He had wondered if Draco - 

He had wondered why he should care. 

He had wondered what was left? What part of his life was untainted by the horror of war, the agony of heartbreak and the pain of rejection? What was left? What was  _good_ in this hell? 

"Mate," Ron had tried, shaking him vigorously. Harry remembered being limp - a rag-doll under the force of his friend's grip, and the rattling shaking his teeth in his jaw - and his hand had been hot, flushed and clammy against him. He remembered them hounding him but he felt hollow, empty. Grounded by nothing, he felt as though he would wash away. He remembered wondering whether he would ever feel anything that made his blood  _burn_ in his veins again...

He didn't think he would: until  _that_ day - 

The day Kingsley accosted him, Harry was loud.

Very loud. 

He tore into the Ministry for Magic with a display of power that Dumbledore would have been proud of. Witches and wizards dove for cover, copies of the Prophet scattering in his wake - filling the skies like confetti - and eyes turned his way, boring into him: half stunned, half fearful. After all, he was apparently unstable now: unsteady and on the verge of cracking at any moment, if the headlines were to be believed. There were Aurors hurrying in his wake, Kingsley leading the charge and struggling to keep up: he more confused than angry at the destruction Harry was causing around him.

"Potter," he called for the third time, but Harry's wand was in his hand, the loyal 'point-me spell' taking him straight to Draco's side, because something had gone on that Harry hadn't a clue about. And he was going to find out: he was going to tear down every office, every room in the place before he let someone talk him out of discovering just what was going on. Kingsley's words were still resonating inside his head, clattering around in that ugly, obvious and tactless way. 

His wand turned violently to the left, and Harry followed, head bowed and eyes blazing, he was sure. The melancholy that had gripped him so tightly before had been burnt out by the incendiary nature of his rage. Whatever had happened between Draco and he, that was  _between them_ , and the Ministry getting involved was nothing short of a ridiculous invasion of his privacy. Were they really going to  _lock him up_ for breaking Harry's heart? What next, murder anyone who dared  _sneeze_ on him? 

The offices he was heading towards were unfamiliar and rather grim. They sent shivers down his spine and made him want to turn around. He could only liken the sensation to the Dementors that had long lingered within the Ministry during the Voldemort years. He felt as hollow as he did when Draco first left him, but the simmering anger beneath his fear burnt through any possibility of him turning on his heel and striding away. His wand was shimmying slightly, vibrating and spitting out the occasional red spark, telling him that he was almost there. 

"Potter," someone said, tone croaking and hoarse, and he  _knew_ that voice. That was the voice that haunted his nightmares, that framed his dreams. That was the voice that lingered in every crevice of his subconscious and burst through with a snide remark or a sharp laugh when the walls he'd hastily thrown up eased enough to let _him_ slip through. 

His eyes shot to the place, almost without permission. 

 _Draco_. 

There was a barred door blocking his access to the Slytherin, but it didn't stop him from seeing just what had become of the eighteen year old. His hair was longer than Harry remembered, tangled and knotted as it hung to his shoulders. His cheeks were sunken, complexion pale and drawn out - he looked ashen-grey rather than the usual blushed pink. His eyes were dulled, with blue-black almost bruises hanging beneath them - a stark contrast given the  _paleness_ of him. It was clear the boy hadn't been sleeping well... or at all. He was wearing a loose fitting shirt and plain, black trousers frayed at the hem of one leg, and his feet were bare and dirty. He looked like a prisoner. He looked as desperate and as broken as Sirius had immediately after escaping from Azkaban. 

 _What the hell had they done to him?_ Gone was the quiet, beautiful aristocrat he had spent all those weeks tangled in bed sheets with - in his place a smaller, dirtier, Lucius who's dark-mark stood bold against the emaciated arm limply dangling across his lap.

"You come to kill me Potter?" Draco whispered, snide, mocking - but the tone was hollow and broken. The thing before him was a shell of the boy he had fallen oh, so in love with. 

 _"Harry_ ," Kingsley called, finally having reached the boy, his associates lingering behind him. 

"What the  _fuck_ did you do to him?" he snarled, turning on his heel sharply and barely noticing as his magic lashed out and crumpled the nearest door into an ugly, metal lump. 

"Harry -" They were confused, that was clear, but the Boy-Who-Lived didn't care. He needed the blonde  _out_ of there.

"Open the door," he ordered, voice trembling. The men glanced amongst themselves, clearly unsure and confused about a request that they had _not_ expected. Although Harry was sure that their expectations had gone sideways shortly after he had sworn at the Minister for Magic, stormed McGonagall's office to use the floo network, frightened several Aurors with his erratic behaviour and torn through the atrium as though he were on the warpath. He held firm though, unwavering in his conviction and desperately trying to shut out the half laughter that was spilling from Draco's lips. It seemed the Slytherin didn't even know he was doing it: spewing forth sound less coherent than the glaze in his dulled orbs. 

It could have been a minute, or three, before someone eventually someone waved their wand and the door opened with a click. Part of Harry was sure their relenting was only because he was _Harry Potter_ and that none of them particularly wanted the bad press that came with openly defying the current most popular person in the Wizarding World... nor did they want to challenge the man who killed the Dark Lord. But the reason why didn't matter as soon as the door swung open, because Harry was inside in an instant and kneeling by Draco's side. The Slytherin was regarding him curiously, unsure but almost... _hopeful_ as his spluttering laughter fell silent. "Shit," Harry cursed, hands hovering and reluctant to touch the boy in case he broke beneath his fingertips. 

"Are you real?" Draco croaked, tone flat, a hint of lucidity returning to his gaze. Harry turned to him sharply - it was clearly worse than he thought. 

"Of course I'm real," he replied, trying to ignore the emotion rising sharply within him and threatening to fill his eyes with tears. 

"Huh." He didn't seem convinced. "Are you going to kill me, then, Scarhead?" he continued, almost giggling. 

Harry swallowed heavily, horrified. " _Never_ ," he hissed. That sobered the boy quickly and his eyes narrowed again, clearly hung up on the  _conviction_ of Harry's sentence. But there was little time to analyse the contents of Draco's gaze. Instead he turned to the Aurors loitering in the doorway. "We need Healers," he demanded, "now." He moved to stand but a hand curled around his wrist. It was hesitant and tentative, as though its owner was expecting to be struck for the action - or at least pushed away. The messy-haired Gryffindor looked back at his former lover, heart racing in his chest and tripping over itself in its haste. 

"Don't leave me," Draco pleaded, voice barely more than a whisper and his gaze frantic. Harry's mouth dropped open a little, knowing it was probably the delirium that made the blonde sound so desperate and that he shouldn't be so kind to a boy who had said  _those_ things to him... but he could never say no to Draco, especially when he was as broken as he was in that moment. 

"I won't," he said, throat closing and settling back beside the boy, knee knocking against the thigh of the blonde and clenching his free hand into a fist to stop the itch that had started in it. It wasn't his right to just _touch_ anymore.

"You said that before," Draco murmured, almost to himself, "but you still left me." He was quiet but also somehow infinitely loud in the small, uncomfortable room. 

" _You_ broke  _my_ heart, Draco, remember?" he muttered, aiming for amused - nonchalant perhaps - but falling well short and falling somewhere between despairing and bitter. "Or do you not remember me sobbing on the corridor floor begging you to come back?"

The looks he received ranged from stunned - the Aurors - and incredulous - Draco, and they burned into him, taking on a life of their own. The hand around his wrist slipped down to entwine their fingers together as a frown pulled at Draco's features making him seem vulnerable, almost childlike, and nothing like the delusional manic he had been moments previously. "You're  _not_ real," Draco muttered, eyes dropping to where their hands were joined. "You can't be." He sounded so  _sure_ , but also so upset by the fact that something turned in Harry's stomach. This was  _not_ the boy who had broken up with him in that corridor weeks previously.

Harry opened his mouth to reply after taking a moment to compose himself, but realised it would be futile with the boy as disassociated as he was. Instead he turned to those in the door. "Kingsley, he needs Healers, he's delirious," he murmured, anger gone in an instant, because  _damn_ , he still loved the boy and seeing him in such a state was crushing his chest like stones were being dropped onto his ribs.

"Potter," the Minister coughed, eyes not settling on one place for long and making the green-eyed boy incredibly dizzy with it all, "what did you mean _'he broke your heart_ '?"

A red tinge flooded Harry's face, suddenly embarrassed. "We were together - we were moving in together after graduation. He broke up with me," he stated, figuring it was best to just say it quickly, like ripping off a bandage. "Why do you think I've been so depressed lately?"

A soft muttering began at the back of the group. And suddenly a light went off in his mind and Harry became acutely aware of something: they  _hadn't known_ about he and Draco and the unfortuate outcome of their relationship. Which, of course, begged the question as to why the Slytherin was there at all - because if they didn't imprison the boy for breaking his heart, then there was no real reason to have locked him up at all. And that made his blood boil in his veins. What could they possibly have dragged his former lover from the safety of his home for?

He cut off whatever Kingsley had started to say with a gruff: "Wait," he said, "why do you have him here?"

There was an uncomfortable sort of look that passed around them. Finally one of the men that Harry didn't know opened his mouth. "We arrested Malfoy several weeks ago, at Hogwarts, after discovering evidence of his crimes. Malfoy's charged with bewitching the - uh,  _you_ \- with a love potion, conspiring to - uh, well,  _sleep-with-you-while-you-were-under-the-influence_ , and conspiring to break Lucius Malfoy out of Azkaban."

Well, _shit._

And that - the  _words -_  broke through Harry's returning melancholy like a stone through a window. It was as though someone had just thrown a toaster into his bath, or pushed him onto a generator. Electricity seared along his nerves, screaming at him to move, to react, to respond. His muscles all tensed, awakening at once and pumping themselves full of adrenaline. He was shaking, trembling, vibrating with an energy he thought he'd never have again because whatever Draco thought of him, whatever Draco had said, whatever he had decided: that was for them. And before? It  _had_  been real. It was innocent, fresh and loving: the coming together of two broken souls to heal each other with hot-chocolate, comfort and laughter beneath the clouds. They had spent hours curled up beneath star-filled skies, giving the constellations new names and snorting into flasks of hot, hot tea; they had lain side by side, watching the other, tracing the lines of their face, memorising features and enraptured by the serenity of it all. They were fractured and wounded creatures, scarred by a war they were too young to understand and forced by people they never knew to fight for a cause given to them by their parents. It had been real and  _nothing,_ and  _no-one_ , could tell him differently.

"No," Harry spat. 

"What -?"

"No. That's  _bullshit!_  He never,  _never_ , bewitched me." And well this was  _not_ going to end well. He hadn't been as angry since Dumbledore and Sirius, since Snape killed Dumbledore, since, since... he didn't think he'd  _ever_ been as angry before. Things began to rattle dangerous around him. "I wasn't spelled - there was _never_ a spell, no potion, no curse. And if your only so-called evidence is recent, then you're wrong because I've been in love with him for years," Harry shouted, rage returning in full force. "Merlin's beard, what the hell is wrong with you people?" Anger was breaking over him like a torrent, an unstoppable wave, flooding his body, every sensation and his vision was beginning to blur around the edges. There was a loud clang, or crash, Harry wasn't sure, but something went flying, hitting someone if the cry of pain and the dull _thud_ that followed immediately afterwards was anything to go by. "You  _bastards_ ," he snarled, sucking in a breath between his teeth. "I. Love. Him." he said, clearly and bluntly. "And that will never change, regardless of whether he loves me in return." The grip on his hand tightened suddenly, but the boy didn't look at the Pureblood.

The Aurors looked as though they'd been slapped. Mouths opening and closing comically. They looked incredibly stupid, Harry thought, and stunned. Had his magic unknowingly cast a Full-Body-Bind too without him knowing?

"Now," the Boy-Who-Lived hissed, "I'm leaving, and I'm taking Draco with me. And since you won't bring the healers to him, I'm taking him to St Mungo's."

With that, Harry tightened his grip on Draco, pictured the hospital in his mind and, in a particularly impressive show of magical ability, apparated them both away.


	10. trying to fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, so all rights to their proper places: J. K. Rowling et al. 
> 
> Here we go lovely people - not too long left now. 
> 
> (More shitty language and bad feels, so be warned darling people - I don't want anyone to feel upset)
> 
> Enjoy,  
> -R.

Ironically, Harry wasn't sat by Draco's bedside when the blonde finally came around after three days of tests, potions and healing spells. Despite the resolute vigil he had maintained by the Slytherin's bedside, the one moment he had stepped away to get some fresh air was the one moment that he had been waiting so long for. 

There had been no flurry of activity that gave away the Pureblood's emergence into the land of the conscious. In fact it had been rather nondescript: he shoving the door open awkwardly with his elbow, still bruised from hours of propping his head up in his hands on the hard, cold bedside table. His cup of coffee has sloshed over the side and he had cursed, a hand edging its way up to scrub at his weary eyes and grimy face before he had seen the change: Draco sat up rather than lay, and his heart had skipped in his chest. The boy had glanced up, face darkening instantly at the sight of him and Harry met the cool, grey stare of the boy he was still  _t_ _its-over-arse_ for. Yet while his discovery had been nondescript, what followed had been far from it.

Draco's expression was closed off, his lips turned into an ugly looking snarl, more than ready to just  _fight_ with every ounce of strength he had left at the sight of his ex-lover. And judging from the tenseness in his shoulders, hands and the slight inhale of shock, the Boy-Who-Lived was better off staying out of arm's reach if he didn't want to be punched, and keeping the Slytherin's wand away from him if he didn't want to be hexed.

 _"Potter,"_ he snapped, angry, bitter and...  _surprised_? There was a lot beneath the word that Harry couldn't decipher - and a lot he didn't particularly want to either. The tone of voice was much too close to the unwelcome voice he had used those weeks previously to be comfortable and the memories of were swimming, unbidden, to the forefront of his mind. "What?" he asked, lips curling, "No fan club with you? Or did you want to rub salt in the wounds? Kick me while I'm down? I suppose I deserve it,  _eh_?"

When his mind finally registered the words, Harry felt his heart breaking slightly at the sentiment. Not only because it reiterated what had gone before, but because any lingering hope that what had happened was a trick was slipping between his fingers and vanishing like smoke on the wind. The possibility of this all being a hoax was all but gone as he stood before his former boyfriend.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," he muttered quietly, partly embarrassed but also on the verge of tears. Not that he wanted the blonde to see him crying. Frankly, he had cried too much in the last few weeks to cry more, and also because he was sure the blonde would mock him for it in his current mood. But despite it all, Harry still couldn't make himself turn to leave - being near Draco was like seeing the sun after the longest night he had ever endured.

There was half-a-heartbeat where Draco paused, wavering slightly as confusion flashed across his face, before the trademark smirk replaced it. "Ah,  _right_ ," he muttered, sarcastic and oh, so angry. "What - you after a shag or something, Potter? You think because I'm vulnerable and I owe you for saving me at the Ministry that I'm going to fuck you?"

Harry flinched as though he'd been slapped and the familiar stinging sensation began to bite harder at his eyes. "No," he replied, his voice thick. "I'm not."  He put the coffee on the nearby surface and tightened his hands compulsively. "Staying though was clearly a mistake," he began. 

" _Obviously_ ," Draco drawled. 

"Right," the Boy-Who-Lived said, swallowing thickly, trying to make himself back out.

"Ah, you _are_ up," a voice said and Harry ducked his head as Kingsley entered. Draco tensed again, eyes darting around and looking for his wand. "Malfoy," the man greeted before turning to Harry. "Mister Potter," he added, cautious. It was the first they had seen of each other since the incident at the Ministry, but the man had sent some of his juniors to the hospital to keep tabs on Draco's condition and Harry had conferred with them once or twice. He'd had demands of his own. 

"He's resting," Harry retorted sharply, uncaring of what had preceeded and turning his hurt into anger...a not very difficult task. He wasn't ready to forgive the man who had done so much harm to someone he loved.

"Harry," Kingsley began. 

"Don't make me say it again, Kingsley," the messy-haired boy warned, ignoring the heavy stare Draco was pinning to the side of his head. 

The Minister heaved out a slow breath before nodding once. "All charges have been dropped, as per your request, and a formal apology will be issued to the Malfoy family for falsely imprisoning Draco. Narcissa will also be released of her house arrest." The man stopped, eyes suddenly tired. "I can only say how sorry I am Harry, and rest assured a formal, and a  _full_ enquiry will be launched into how this happened. But you must know that the people we spoke to about this were Ron and Ginny Weasley. We'll have to call them in."

"Fine," Harry replied, deadpan. "If they had anything to do with this then they deserve to be brought in and raked across hot coals."

Kingsley flinched, stunned, but composed himself quickly. 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," he confessed before turning to Draco, "to  _both_ of you. We should have asked more questions. It just made sense, I mean -"

"Because I'm a Death Eater?" Draco guessed, tone bitter.

"Actually because of Harry," the man murmured, casting a look over to the Boy-Who-Lived again. "Your depression -"

"Thank you Kingsley," Harry shut him off instantly, tone leaving no room for argument as he gestured to the door. "I trust your investigation will be fruitful."

"Potter," the Minister said, knowing a dismissal when he saw one. "Malfoy," he added before leaving the room. 

Draco's eyes were on him again. 

"You depressed Potty?" he mocked, eyebrow cocking and something smug entering his gaze. "Life not quite matching up to how you imagined it?"

And that, it seemed was the last straw, because suddenly Harry's eyes were filled with hot, angry tears and the violent, desperate thing that had been sat on his chest for weeks crawled up his throat and tore past his lips. "You  _bastard_ ," he spat. "You know I didn't have to help you? I could have left you there, in that vile, dank cell rambling like a madman about nothing and looking more and more like your father every day. And yes, you would have deserved it after everything you did - after everything you said - because anyone else would have told you to go fuck yourself. And you know what,  _Malfoy_ , I may be a fucking  _fag_ , a  _retard_ , a  _perverted-little-shit,_ or whatever it was you called me, but at least I know who I am, and I'm a good man," he cried, openly sobbing now - much to the surprise (and alarm) of Draco before him - and his vision was beginning to blur with the sheer amount of tears. "You pretended to love me, to care, when all that time it was just to get one over on me? You what, wait until I let you fuck me any which way you want, then you break my heart in the middle of a  _fucking corridor_ , and leave me crying on the floor? You're a  _selfish, hypocritical bastard_ , and I can't believe I still **love** you. And yeah, I was in a really shitty place when you broke up with me, so yeah, maybe I didn't go to lessons, maybe I didn't talk to people, maybe the Prophet wrote about me and people tried to get me to  _smile_ like it was no big deal, and maybe I cried and hid myself away and didn't socialise because maybe I didn't want to. Maybe I just wanted to deal with the fact that I had nothing left! So, yeah,  _life wasn't quite matching up_ ," he hissed, half hiccuping on the words. "Don't expect me to help again, Draco," he swore, "because if I'm to get over you, I can't think about you, I can't see you, be near you - I can't have anything to do with you." He turned on his heel sharply, hand reaching for the door, sobs catching in his throat when six words broke through the distraught haze he'd worked himself into. 

"You're so full of shit, Potter."

Harry felt as though ice had been thrown over him and he spun around so fast, the room blurred. 

" _What?_ " he hissed, because oh, damn, he was going to throw the blonde out of the window. 

"You're full of shit," he snarled, leaning forward and -  _there were tears in his eyes_ , Harry noted in surprise. "You. Broke. Up. With. Me." Draco stated, slowly, deliberately, each word biting and as heavy as a punch to the gut. "And whatever  _that_ was, it's a nice performance, but it's bullshit."

Harry was reaching for his wand before he realised, although the widening of Draco's eyes made him feel a bit shitty. He'd never seen the boy  _scared_ of him before. But after a sharp, complex movement and suddenly they were both in the memory that Harry had tried so hard to forget. 

_"I'm not doing this.”_

_"Do what, Draco?"_

_"This! This bullshit airy-fairy fucking nonsense. I'm not moving in with you, I'm not doing anything with you, and whatever you think has been going on, you're clearly fucking mistaken."_

_Harry shouting, pleading - desperate. Then:_

_"I'm done. I'm done. I'm not a fag, I never was, and well, fucking you was a good way to prove I could still get one over on the light side," he added, clearly rambling, but Harry was numb. "And I did. And well, there you go - revenge. Revenge for all you did, because I wanted him to win Harry. This, this is all bullshit."_

_"I don't believe you.”_

_"I don't care what you believe, Potter, you're a fucking fag, a retard, a perverted-little-shit and I have no intention of every going near someone like you again. Of going near you again. You disgust me.”_

_"I love you.”  Sobs climbing within him - hot, hot tears._

_"You don't love me Potter. Maybe you think you do, but I don't care. You were fun while you lasted, but all this talk of seriousness and commitment had made me realise that I need to end this, this perverted thing. I was lonely, I needed a good fuck and well, you were convenient."_

_"I don't - I don't…You did love me, you do, I know it, I - stop this, Draco please, if, if - if you love me -" Merlin, he wanted to die. Anything, just not this - anything but this..._

_"I **don't**." A pause . Then, "Goodbye, Potter."_

_Pain, sorrow, an ache in his chest - the floor was cold beneath him._

_Hermione and, Ron? He wanted Draco, he wanted Draco._

_"It's okay, Harry..."_

_No it wasn't, Draco was gone, Draco was -_

_"He hates me. He hates me. He hates me."_

Harry pulled back, banishing the memory and curling his lips back in a snarl. "Don't you dare tell me different,  _Malfoy_ , because _you_ broke _me_."

"No," the boy breathed, swallowing heavily. "That's not real, it, it  _can't_ be real."

"Draco -" Harry snapped, feeling raw and bruised and broken. 

"Stop it, Harry, stop trying to fight. I'm not trying to fight," he cried, anger gone and something akin to panic replacing it. " _That never happened_ , because I know you broke up with me. I was there. You, you stood and told me you'd found out I was bewitching you. That you'd found the potions bottles and the books in my chambers and the remnants of a love potion. You told me that everything was a lie, and that you'd never be with a Death Eater like me if you had the choice - that I was nothing more than the mark on my arm. That I was a killer and no one could ever love me - that I was good for nothing more than a quick and convenient fuck for the bewitched and the desperate..."

Harry wanted to hex the boy, but he knew the look on the blonde's face: he wasn't lying. 

"You're telling the truth," he muttered, voice shaky. 

There was a moment of silence before: "You really think  _I_ would break up with  _you_?" Draco asked, self-deprecating. "You are -  _were_ \- the only good thing in my life."

They were quiet for a long time - simply staring at each other, barely blinking, just trying to understand. 

Harry knew first.

"They broke us up," he realised. 

"They?" Draco asked, brow furrowed before it smoothed out in revelation. " _Shit_ ," he cursed. 

"I think," the boy snarled, "that I need a word with my best mate."


	11. know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, so all rights to their proper places: J. K. Rowling et al. 
> 
> The penultimate one. Thanks for the love, people.
> 
> I may or may not have written this instead of sleeping, so apologies for any mistakes my friends.
> 
> Enjoys, 
> 
> \- R.

Ronald Weasley was, for all accounts, having a rather good day. He was home with his family and his girlfriend, Hogwarts (with her essays and exams) was firmly in the rear-view mirror of his life and the prospect of Auror training was making him burn with excitement - as finally,  _finally_ , he was going to fulfil his life-long ambition of kicking-ass and taking down bad guys. He would be with Harry, of course, but there was no way they'd look past him - especially not after his contribution to the war-effort. He could be the one in full, shining glory, and not just the side-kick; just the 'best-friend' no longer. 

Plus, the sun was shining too - and if that didn't spell a good day, the redhead wasn't sure what would. 

Ron didn't see the punch that connected with the flaring end of his cheekbone, but he felt the blow as though he'd been struck with the Hogwarts Express and he tasted the blood in his mouth instantly.

Suddenly the day was decidedly  _less_ good.

" _Harry_!" Molly Weasley cried out, standing abruptly from her place at the table, knitting forgotten in her shock at the black-haired boy storming into the kitchen, expression thunderous and eager for blood. The woman had never seen such a dark countenance on the young man's face before. There was a certain degree of scrambling around her as people began to reach and  _pull_ the two boys apart, trying to ignore the red slick on Harry's knuckles and Ron's face and the trails of spittle that hung from the lips of both the attacked and the attacker. 

But Harry was shouting before anyone could begin to reprimand or demand an answer for his actions. "It was you,  _wasn't it_?! You did it. You  **did**. Admit it!"

Another loose, swinging punch that was more desperate than accurate and, in truth, had never any chance of reaching its intended destination when thrown in a kitchen full of wizards. 

"Harry!"

" _Harry,_ STOP!"

"What - _Harry_?" 

There were so many voices, but no one could really work out who was who. It was patchwork of broken sentences and choked gasps torn from their throats more violently than the rampage storming behind Harry's eyes. None knew just  _what_ was going on, but it was clear that the Boy-Who-Lived felt incredibly justified in his actions. Molly had taken another step forward when he opened his mouth again. 

"You bastard!" the messy-haired boy spat, lunging at the redhead again, but there were too many people in the way. The Weasley's kitchen was, as usual, bustling with activity and every arm, leg, face and hand was blocking his path to Ron. "I TRUSTED YOU! he roared as he was finally dragged away, Hermione and Molly crowding around Ron to fix his steadily bleeding face and casting worried, fearful glances in his direction.

Somehow Harry found himself forced into a chair and, at the shout of  _Incarcerous,_ bound tightly in place with little chance of escaping. His wand was in George's hand, the remaining twin regarding him with suspicion and concern, and his hands were already aching as they strained against the thick rope holding him down. 

"Harry,  _what-in-Merlin's-name-is-going-on_?" Molly asked, fiercely protective of her son, but also extremely worried for the green-eyed Gryffindor she loved as her own child. 

"You couldn't let me be happy?" the messy-haired boy spat, eyes never wavering from Ron and not really seeing the family around him. Part of him hoped they weren't involved in the events that had led Draco to his hospital bed, but part of him feared they knew - and they helped. But he couldn't look at the only mother he'd ever really known and ask why she would break his heart, because what was left would splinter and crumble to little more than ash. "I know," he continued, chest heaving. "I know what you did. What you said to Draco and what you said to me - I know you were behind it. I know you _must have been_. Was it Polyjuice Potion? Or did you go the whole mile and use the Imperius Curse?" His heart was beating so fast it felt like it was buzzing in his chest rather than pumping: a cavern of flies worming between his ribs and battering his lungs with their wings. He felt out of sorts, uncomfortable in his skin and desperate to claw at the painful ache there: because however the confrontation played out, he was going to lose someone. And he really didn't want to lose anyone else. 

But, like everything in his life, there was an inevitability about it all that hung over him like a cloak. 

"Slow down, what's going on?" It was Arthur and it seemed he was genuinely after the truth, but Harry's gaze was red tinged and the pain of it all was swallowed over and over by the image of Draco in the cell, emaciated and filthy, asking if Harry was going to _kill_ him. 

"You  _took_  him from me," he returned instead, still not looking anywhere other than Ron. Because the redhead who had finally met his accusing gaze would feel the pain burning through Harry's veins - especially if it was to be the last moment of their friendship. "Why? Because he's a guy? Because he's a _Slytherin_? Or is it because he's not your sister? The first time I felt alive in so long, and you  _ruined_  that. For what? An outdated notion on sexuality and the perverted need to see me hooking up with your sister? Why could you not let me be happy?" His voice was breaking, but he pushed on. "I've lost  _everyone_. My parents, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, hell, even Dobby; you were the only family I had, and you do  _this_? You took the  _love-of-my-life_ from me. Had him thrown in a cell - sentenced to Azkaban? Could you not see that I was dying inside without him?"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, filled only by the harsh, ragged breathing of Harry.

"Draco...?" Hermione whispered, uncertain, eyes nervously darting between those present. 

"He's in the hospital," Harry said, voice cracking again, but this time it shattered in two and the raw pain was more than evident, "because of what  _you_ did to him."

"You and Malfoy?" George asked slowly. "As in  _you-and-Malfoy_ ," he emphasised, clearly trying to piece together the situation, but struggling. "How long?"

"Months - before Christmas," Harry murmured, "we broke up a few weeks ago," he paused, eyes hardening in an instant. "I thought he broke up with me, and he thought I broke up with him. He said everything to me he knew would hurt, things that only a few people would know."

" _Harry_ ," Mrs Weasley replied, aghast, finally catching on, and looking at her youngest son in horror. "Ronald would  _never_..."

"Ronald  _did,_ " he shot back, tone biting, straining against the ropes slightly. The slight flinch from Molly made the green-eyed boy feel slightly guilty, but once again his emotions were welling up inside him, desperate for an outlet. 

There was another long, echoing silence.

"I didn't do anything other than report him for his crimes," Ron finally confessed. "I  _saw_ the evidence. We  _both_ did," he added, turning to Hermione imploringly, "and we had him arrested."

"Ronald!" Molly exclaimed, hands coming up to cover her mouth. 

"Wait -  _crimes_?" George asked, stepping forward, half in front of Harry as though to protect him. There was an edge to his tone that spoke of disbelief, and of anger - although Harry wasn't sure wish emotion corresponded to Draco and which to Ron. 

"He was bewitching Harry!" Ron cried, hands flailing about him. "He had books and potions and everything!"

"BULLSHIT!" Harry roared, straining again as his magic flared and lashed out. "HE NEVER CURSED ME!"

" _Harry_!" Hermione shouted as pots and pans began to clatter together. Several enchantments later and the kitchen fell still, although not before a stray saucepan almost hit Ginny, who had come running down from upstairs at the commotion, and flown into the kitchen unaware. 

"I'VE BEEN IN LOVE WITH HIM FOR YEARS!" Harry continued, a desperate edge to his voice now, because they had to know what they'd done to them both; what keeping them apart had done. 

They all froze at that. Even Ginny who had been whispering quickly with her father, clearly trying to catch up on just what was going on, fell silent at the confession.

" _Oh Harry_ ," someone murmured. The boy thought it may have been Mrs Weasley, but suddenly his supposed best friend was opening his mouth and Harry's words died in his throat.

"You only think that mate," Ron replied, softly, trying to sooth the ragged tatters of Harry's temper, "You can't love him, you don't _know -_ "

"I know," he shot back, unwavering and unwilling to move.  

"Harry," Ginny chimed in, her voice immediately raising his hackles, "you  _can't_. You know it's not true. You wouldn't  _choose_  him if you were in your right mind - and if we hadn't stepped in, you'd still be fawning over him. It's for the best, he's a Death Eater, after all."

Just as Harry turned sharply - well as sharply as he was able when tied to a chair - and opened his mouth, ready to scream and rant at Ginny, because _fuck her_ , that's why. 

Ron beat him to it. 

"What do you mean  _we_?" he breathed, brows pulling together and dropping his flailing hands for the first time. 

And yet again, the kitchen fell quiet. 

"What?" Ginny croaked. 

"What do you mean  _we_?"

"I -"

'Mione and I were the only ones who spoke to Kingsley when we first called him."

Heads were turning between the two as though the conversation were an interesting tennis game, but something was creeping to the forefront of Harry's mind and he chimed in. "Kingsley said Ron and Ginny Weasley were the ones who informed him of the issue," he said, throat closing.

Suddenly things were beginning to make sense, the pieces falling into place and revealing the puzzle before him.

"No, I-"

Harry cut her off. "Kingsley said he was going to have to drag you both in for questioning now that Draco's been acquitted of all charges."

"He  _what_?!" Ginny shouted, eyes blowing wide and mouth dropping open, although Harry wasn't sure which part she was surprised about.

"He's innocent," he hissed, gaze turning to livid slits. 

"NO, he's  _not_ ," the girl cried lurching forward, almost pleading with the boy, "he's a Death Eater, Harry! And you would never choose him if you were able to: he's nothing more than a killer and nobody can ever love him! Especially not  _you_ , our  _Saviour_."

"Ginny," Molly whispered, the word coloured in both horror and dread. "Ginevra, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything, Mum, really!" she replied, shaking her head vigerously. "I only showed them what they  _needed_ so they could save Harry, that's all."

"Gin," George choked while Arthur sucked in a harsh breath. 

"I was saving Harry," she insisted.

"You fabricated the evidence," Harry spat, magic surging once more and finally,  _finally_ burning through the rope holding him in one awesome display of power. He stood sharply, snatching his wand from between George's limp fingers. "And then you played us off against one another, so I wouldn't question when he vanished, didn't you?"

"I -"

" _Don't bullshit me,_ " Harry warned, eyes dark, wand pointing at her threateningly. The fact that no Weasley rose to defend her spoke of their horror and shock at the situation. "Imperius or Polyjuice?" he demanded. 

Ginny swallowed. "Harry,  _please_."

"Tell me," he ordered, this time letting his magic flow through his wand and act. He knew it was illegal and those around him would recognise it for what it was, but there was no way he was letting the girl get away with what she had done. There were a couple of gasps around him, but within the moment Ginny's mouth was moving. 

"I made the evidence, I made sure Ron found it. Then I Polyjuiced into you to break up with him and then I used the Imperius curse to make him break up with you before I took his memory," she replied, voice flat and unemotional.

There were shocked, disbelieving cries echoing out around him, but Harry pressed on, determined. "Why?"

Ginny's expression didn't change, but her eyes dulled slightly more with the influx of pressure on her mind. "Because you were supposed to be with me," she replied. "It was always supposed to be me and you, Harry. You're not gay, he must have spelled you."

Harry stared at her for a few seconds before releasing the charm. "It'll never be you," he swore, ignoring the silence pressing around them. He waited until the light returned to her eyes. "I'm going to tell Kingsley the truth and then I'm sure you'll go to the very place you tried to send Draco," he informed her, tone dripping with venom. "And if you so much as  _breath_ in Draco's direction, I'll kill you Ginny."

Another wave of gasps. 

"Harry," Hermione was saying, insistent and suddenly oh, so sorrowful. 

"No," he said, shaking his head and glaring in her direction. "You should have asked. You should have trusted me. You should have  _spoken_ to me. To  _anyone_ ," he snarled, ignoring the sudden rush of emotion and the burning sensation starting in the corner of his eyes. He wanted out of the place - he wanted to be back with Draco. 

And with that thought, he turned on his heel and strode from the kitchen without so much as a look behind him. 

It was only when he was curled around Draco that evening that the mediwizard told him Ginny, realising the extent of her dilemma, had begun to struggle when Kingsley and the Aurors arrived to arrest her. In the end, they had carried her off screaming.

Harry thought he could have never seen a better sight than that - but then Draco scrunched up his nose in his sleep and made a soft, huffy sort of noise and suddenly Ginny was unimportant once again.


	12. (un)steady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, so all rights to their proper places: J. K. Rowling et al.
> 
> Uh, huh - I'm done. 
> 
> -R, out.

They called it the trial of the century. Personally, Harry thought that was a little dramatic.

Greyed pictures of Draco were plastered across the front page of the newspapers, some leaning towards ' _Death-Eater Ensnares Saviour: Was Weasley Right?'_ while others led with a more neutral ' _Malfoy and Potter 'No Comment' As Trial Progresses_ ' and the Quibbler put the pair of them, side by side, with the caption:  _'Why Wrackspurts Are Never Wrong' ._ Draco had smiled widely at that, looking up from his hospital bed at Harry as the messy-haired boy roared with laughter, the good kind of tears pricking his eyes.

They had spent every opportunity either swapping stories or apologies, but there was still a hesitance around them - both too worried about the other and  _where-they-were_ to be as open and casual as they already had. In a way it hurt Harry, but he was so grateful to be near the blonde, he didn't push. And, well, the looks he sometimes saw thrown his way were enough to settle the fear in his gut that Draco might come to the conclusion that Harry wasn't worth the pain, the  _drama_ of everything. The tender, kind softness that made him look vulnerable soothed out his features as he regarded the Boy-Who-Lived. It seemed too that Harry wasn't the only one who had noticed the affection shot his way. Narcissa, recently released from house arrest - Kingsley having kept his word in all aspects - had visited her son several times, yet with one glance between the boys, she had pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows and, in no uncertain terms, told them to be careful, because there were much more dangerous adversaries than Ginny Weasley in the Wizarding World who would object to the pair. But, given the heavy blush on the Slytherin's cheeks, there had been enough acceptance in the words to embarrass, and thrill, him. And well, then Harry had been invited for tea in the Manor so that was that.

Draco was discharged from St. Mungo's three days before the verdict was given. The pair had already given official statements to the Aurors, so were not needed for the trial: something that both were immensely grateful for. Harry had taken Draco back to Grimmauld Place and it was testament to how exhausted the blonde was by his lack of protest. He settled into the room that Harry had mentally called _theirs_ in one of his domestic bliss moments when they first decided to live together, while he took Sirius's room. 

It was awkward but they kept smiling, offering each other tea and avoiding the heavy, bloated  _thing_ between them both. 

Then the verdict was released...

_Not-guilty._

Harry screamed until his voice gave out and Draco held him while he sobbed. Numbly, he thought it should be the other way around: that he should be comforting Draco, making sure he was okay and let him shout his frustrations into his shoulder, neck, arm - whatever body part he desired - but somehow he couldn't bring himself to move. And neither, it seemed, could Draco. So they sat, two broken boys, clinging to each other in the kitchen of a dead-man's house, one silent and one screaming, but neither moving.  

"I'll always be a Death-Eater, Harry," he'd eventually murmured as the messy-haired boy finally quieted and pulled away to wipe the snot and tears from his face with his sleeve. 

There was a beat of silence.

"Not to me."

Draco's gaze was unreadable. "It's not enough for them," he whispered. 

Harry breathed in deeply, knowing how  _wrecked_ he must look. "Is it enough for you?"

Draco licked his lips, almost nervously. "You are more than enough for me; you're more than I deserve."

And they held each other until the sun fell out the sky and the streetlamps from outside cast eerie glows through the window. Harry moved into _their_ room and didn't leave again.

Both feared that someone might come barging into their house, pull Draco from the safety of Harry's arms and escort him to Azkaban. But no one ever did. The papers were as confused as the two boys: but just because Ginny was 'innocent', it didn't mean that Draco was 'guilty', apparently. It turned their stomachs, but they said nothing. The words 'misunderstanding', 'love-triangle' and 'mystery' were overused in the weeks following the trial. As was Harry's fireplace, with requests from every journalist, politician and interested party he knew all desperate for a line, a clue, anything on what had happened. Eventually, with some help from a particularly enthusiastic Kreacher, the fire-call was cut off. Only Andromeda and Teddy, as well as Narcissa, were let through. Funnily enough Ron, Hermione, the Weasley's - they didn't call. Harry found it hurt a lot less than he expected. 

And normality bloomed. 

The start-date for the Auror training program came and went: Harry stayed in the haven of their shared space, curled around Draco as he took his regular ("It's doctor-prescribed, Potter, I'm  _not_ an infant!") afternoon nap. He watched as the man he loved grew back into himself, still recovering from the effects of his incarceration. Harry started reading through the Black library, startled to learn that held more knowledge than Hogwarts did. He learned French, only to prove to Draco that he could, and read to the blonde in the language, quickly falling in love with it. He began learning Dutch in October, after Narcissa told him about Draco's love for Amsterdam and there wasn't anything stopping Harry from taking the blonde to his favourite place in the world. But most of all they lounged, fingers almost always intertwined or pressed up against each other: a silent reminder that they weren't going anywhere...that they were real. And laughter filled the halls of Grimmauld Place. 

They painted rooms, tore down old wall-paper and furniture and threw paper aeroplanes at Walburga Black's portrait, much to their amusement and Kreacher's horror. Eventually they took the vile painting down. They replaced it with a picture of the original Order of the Phoenix. They enlarged the picture of Sirius and James that Draco had found in his mother's trunk and hung it in the living room. And the house that Harry's godfather had hated was suddenly a  _home_. 

It was a cold, early-December evening when he and Draco finally tumbled into bed for the first time since their split with the same passion that had months previously. They laughed as cold feet tangled in between them, huffed and moaned and cried the good kind of tears, because they were healing again - Ginny nothing more than a footnote in their stories; a footnote that deserved no thoughts of revenge, anger, pain...she deserved no thoughts of any kind. And after they were sated and sore in the best possible way, they dragged their bedding to the still roaring fire in the living room and bathed in each other, tracing fingertips over every new scar, every old one, every dip and groove and blemish on their bodies that told of pain and loss and  _courage_.

That told of life.

The life of two  _beautiful_ , _~~un~~ steady souls_. 

And it was on Christmas Eve, exactly a year after their first kiss, that Harry looked up from his toast at the bleary-eyed man he loved with everything he had, smiled and said:

"Hey, Draco. Wanna get married?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the crazy love. And I hope you like this ending - although I'm sure some might be annoyed with it (sorry about that), but this was always the way my brain was telling me to end it. 
> 
> As an almost disclaimer, I wrote this chapter to 'Moon' by Sleeping At Last, which may explain the angst and the feels, ha. 
> 
> Thanks again people, you're awesome and don't ever forget it. 
> 
> -R.


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